


Together, We'll Survive

by stingingscorpion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Dolls and Jeremy are bros too, F/F, F/M, Gen, I mcfreakin lied, I said no Doc, Lots o' Violence, Mutual Pining, Nicole is a sad insomniac, Nicole's accent and Stetson make an appearance, No Curse, Shae's only a figment of Nicole's imagination, Slightly Altered Timeline, The Last of Us AU no one asked for, Waverly and Nicole and Jeremy are a gay trio, Wynonna and Nicole are bros, as much sarcasm as this author can muster, attempted suicide in chapter 22, but how else do people bond, character death in chapter 23, generic title is generic, just the apocalypse, lots o' swearing, many near-death experiences, no Clooties no Doc sadly, not wayhaught i swear, tags tags tags, uses canon dialogue, wayhaught-centric, what else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-03-07 14:47:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 170,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13437063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stingingscorpion/pseuds/stingingscorpion
Summary: Just as the Earp sisters plan to leave their corrupt group, a mysterious map and letter telling of a fabled sanctuary arrives on their laps. With nothing else to lose they plan to sneak out in search of a better way to live in their awful, broken world. One problem: Wynonna goes missing.Or,The Earp sisters' encounters as they travel north, to a mysterious location indicated in a letter. They'll encounter Infected, friends and lovers, the morally corrupt, and the plain unlucky. They'll win and they'll lose. They'll question if it's all worth it.





	1. Searching For Wynonna Earp, Part One: Seeking Justice

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea I've been throwing around since November. I needed some writing practice and a break from my main project, so I figured why not combine two of my favorite things?  
> This is my first fic with this fandom and in general and the whole thing is planned out already and will be pretty long. It's WayHaught-centric, of course, but the point of view will switch every so often to others to flesh out their part in all this. I also try to throw in quotes from the show here and there, only because there are some lines I just can't pass up. The timeline's also altered to match The Last of Us, which begins in 2013 while Wynonna Earp is around 2017 (so Waverly and Wynonna are 21 and 27 in 2013 instead of a few years later when the show starts).  
> I hope to update every Saturday, but then I'm horrid with deadlines so I guess we'll see...

She approached without fear, shotgun loaded with what few bullets she could scavenge. Her soft brown locks, matted in some spots, bounced with her quick pace, rocks and twigs and dead grass crunching under her worn boots. How she’d love a new pair . . .

She drummed her fingers nervously against the long gun in her grip, hazel-green eyes focused on the camp growing bigger with each stride. Stealth wasn’t her plan, but she feared the rowdy drunks inside would detect her from the way her heart thumped against her chest alone. It took everything not to turn around and forget about what she came for.

But then again, she had nothing to lose.

The Earp family, her family, could’ve been safe in the homestead, so far from their small town and even further from the city. No one in the city stood a chance when the Cordyceps hit them, so how could the small town of Purgatory possibly? They were lucky to get some warning. But everything still went to shit in a blink. Small town, limited resources, nearly nowhere to hide . . .

They had been enjoying an afternoon lunch at Shorty’s, really the town hangout. Though Ward Earp, like most, had been a drinker and never bothered with anywhere else anyway. For once, unfortunate in this case, everyone Waverly Earp loved was here. Her burly, good-enough beau Champ Hardy was showing off on the mechanical bull. Shorty himself, Aunt Gus, and Uncle Curtis shared old stories at the bar. Her father’s close friend Robert Svane shared a drink and a laugh on his hour off. He was the only one who could make Willa Earp laugh, something that was probably best for everyone. And Wynonna Earp finally strolled into town from who-knows-where, bottle of whiskey in hand, unfiltered opinions of Champ’s bull riding and personality as a whole spewing from her lips and into his ears, threatening his concentration each attempt at his own record time.

Everyone heard of the virus spreading around the country’s big cities and select small counties. Still they tried to go about their normal lives, some unconvinced the end of the world was really happening. A handful left Purgatory for loved ones elsewhere and most continued their eight hours working in the day and eight hours hiding indoors from the snow at night. Then that _kind_ gentlemen passing by from the city turned and turned others in a flash. If Ward Earp was the sober type of sheriff he’d have actually hit the man before he spread his disease, before Uncle Curtis was bit, before Aunt Gus was bit, before Shorty himself was bit, before Wynonna quite literally yanked her youngest sister over the bar and to the safety of outside.

They assumed the homestead would be safe, and for a while it was. It seemed like the perfect place, a sanctuary compared to the real purgatory becoming of their town. But then Ward returned from a long hike to the overridden city not because he was protecting the people as sheriff but because he was scavenging supplies like a father. Though as usual all he could return with was mostly alcohol.

And this time, a bite he was too drunk to notice.

He and Robert argued for what felt like an eternity, Robert safely locked inside with the girls and Ward rightfully stuck out on the porch. Willa, always loathing her father, happily helped Robert in convincing the man to stay out and away. Waverly stood in the background, thinking not of her still-missing boyfriend—or ever, really—but of how they were about to lose another member of their family. She hoped her mother, wherever she was, was safe.

That’s when Ward let his gun off. Infected poured in from nowhere despite them already being nowhere—a lesson no one ever forgot: guns were to be an absolute last resort. Then Ward was being grabbed and Wynonna kicked the front door open, taking her father’s and family’s treasured Colt Buntline in her own hands and putting him down. Dying was always better than turning. At least, that’s what she believed. Waverly always thought different. In this horror of a world they were learning to know, surely there’d be some way to save that person?

They skipped town after that. Purgatory simply had no more supplies, and liberating areas holding the things they needed were too dangerous to even look at.

Robert gathered what they had left, packed the truck, poured in the remainder of their collected fuel, and they were off to the next town, then the next and the next. Really, they tried to keep moving. Maybe staying still was worse than moving around.

Until somewhere along the line they met other survivors, mostly hailing from Purgatory. And lacking leadership. They were delinquents but somehow soft-spoken Robert Svane could talk to them. That’s where his mousy personality died and he became tougher, harder, crueler, now reborn as Bobo Del Rey, someone who knew what to do always and how to protect his own—even if it meant tossing some out.

The three Earp girls weren’t tossed out. They left. It was all just too much, beginning with some turning to cannibalism and preying on innocent travelers and ending with torturing said “food” until it was their time to be the night’s main course. A map that suddenly appeared in the Earp sisters’ quarters was the final push, even if they had no reason to trust the thing. But a detailed mystery map was still better than sticking around with a group of madmen. It’d only be a matter of time before they lost their minds, too.

Better yet, someway, somehow along the way another group—gang, more like—rose and began a massive turf war for the former thumb-sized town Bobo’s men cleared months ago. The lead challenger being Lou, another Purgatorian even mousy Robert wasn’t fond of—meaning Bobo had no patience for the man. It got to a point people killed each other as if gaining points in some sick game.

In the middle of it all, desperately trying to leave this deathtrap of a town, was Wynonna and Waverly Earp, now absent of their murdered older sister, armed with nothing more than a Colt Buntline, a shotgun, a handful of bullets, and whatever they could carry on their backs. Neither felt shame in stealing from either party. They’d be out of here soon, anyway, and these people were nothing past awful. 

But then Wynonna went missing. She left to do some honest hunting in the generous woods surrounding this nightmare of a place but never returned. Waverly was supposed to get a move on as they discussed in this particular scenario, at least find a new place to hide or try for an opening her size in the stretching, barbed fence by the area’s only safe exit. They found travelling through the woods to freedom was worse than crossing through the groups. Men were always here, local or not, and the wildlife was unkind. Even hunting was suicide. But Waverly wasn’t leaving. There was no way Wynonna Earp was carved up by some four-legged mutt or two-legged forest freak. If she wasn’t in town on her own she was with one of these damned gangs. Alive or not, Waverly needed to find her. Wynonna was all she had left.

And so she marched into the camp occupied by Lou’s men, not Bobo’s, shotgun held tightly in her hands, heart thumping, feet aching in crappy old boots, crunching whatever littered the ground under her heels.

She ignored the threats at the conquered space’s front gate. Its guards, in utter disbelief, stared as she strolled in as if she belonged, gun not even cocked or pointed anywhere but upward, resting still in her grip.

The men inside weren’t as amused, though some laughed, beer bottles in hand, and others, weapons in hand, threatened her off. She cared none. She only clenched her jaw, took a nervous breath and made her demands.

“Give me back my sister, assholes!” she asked of them, none of the usual Waverly Earp kindness in her tone. More laughter, then guns cocked and pointed. She tried not to look as scared as she felt.

“Piss off, Baby Earp,” someone warned.

“Ain’t no one seen that nympho,” another chimed. Her grip tightened.

“Look,” she tried, “give her back and we’ll be on our way, I swear.” They had to be lying, right? No way Bobo’s men nabbed Wynonna. No way something got her in the woods.

“No one’s got or seen her,” the first man reassured in a sharp, annoyed tone. “Now get the fuck out before someone shoots that pretty little face off.”

Her shotgun snapped to attention, aiming at the men with shaking hands. They were lying. They _had_ to be. This is the only place Wynonna could be. If Bobo had her it’d be hell to get her back, especially alone and with half a pocket of shotgun shells.

People were shouting, laughing, swearing, making promises of dropping the light from Waverly’s life with the simple pull of a trigger. And once that trigger’s pulled, it can’t be taken back, expected results or not.

So another entered the scene, greatly understanding this concept, having experienced its ugly truth. Something about her made Waverly stare, even forget her troubles for a moment, as if she had some sort of mystical energy about her. This woman was tall, focused on pulling and tightening a red holster to her hips. The silver and black pistol was tucked away, not out and reflecting the trash can fires of the camp like a mirror. She looked tired as all hell, red hair pulled in a messy bun and a look in her eyes only a college student in the old world held, one of pure exhaustion. It didn’t appear she’d been drinking and laughing about whatever with the others, but maybe doing something reasonable with her time.

“Come now boys,” she muttered, voice groggy with sleep.

Waverly could pick up a slight accent. While she found this, oddly, cute, the woman approaching hated the way it sounded. But with the world where it was now, she didn’t care much making a fuss to change it.

She stopped her walking, long legs really reaching a distance, directly in front of the youngest Earp. Some lowered their guns, some started to ignore the situation, and some even left for private quarters. What, was she the riot mediator or something?

“Let’s not make a scene. It’s blowin’ past midnight and I’m not in the mood for clearin’ out Infected.”

“Troublemaker in our place, officer,” a man with long blond hair and the universe’s most unamused expression happily tattled. “ _Our_ place.”

She inspected Waverly, flames dancing in her reflective, dark eyes. After a moment she let out a laugh, one that warned Waverly to tighten her grip on that black-as-night shotgun.

“Troublemaker?” The woman asked the few men still offended by Waverly’s presence. Others, by now, went about their business, as if this sort of thing happened often. “This one?”

“She’s a damn Earp!” the same long-haired man nearly shouted. He looked ready to pull that trigger.

“Ah,” the woman crossed her arms, “Earps comin’ lookin’ for trouble?” She indicated Waverly to those who were still riled up, still frothing at the mouth with rage. “So why’s there one? And the small one, at that?” She looked back to Waverly now, letting out another laugh that made her feel quite small. “Can you even shoot that without fallin’ flat on your ass? ‘Cause I could trade you a pistol. More Baby Earp sized.”

This woman was beginning to grow less cute.

But, Waverly was noticing, there were less and less men tuning into the situation by the second. Was she helping?

“Small or not,” the man with the long hair and clearly unbrushed teeth went on, “she’s an Earp. A thief! You’re not doin’ your bullshit good cop show. Not tonight.” He raised his gun and Waverly instinctively jerked hers to point at him. “Not on a damn thievin’ Earp!”

The woman sighed, pistol still holstered. But Waverly could see her eyes were fixed tightly on this man’s weapon. It even looked the firearm made her uncomfortable.

“I think you’re just a little drunk, Carl. You should go sit down.” Her tone, a bit teasing before, was serious and cold as stone now.

“Don’t take me in, officer,” he continued, waving his cocked gun about. The woman’s eyes didn’t leave the weapon. Neither did Waverly’s. “Why do we listen to her, anyway?” He searched in his colleagues for an answer. A good chunk of the camp went back to drinking, silently now, trying their best to ignore the whole scene. He, Carl, huffed and looked back to the tall woman, eyes still tired, arms crossed, and face as unamused as his. “Why do we listen to you?”

“Because I’m the only one here who hates chaos,” she shot back. “Now go back to drinkin’ and I’ll handle this. Tell that story again, the one about the bar fight you won with nothin’ but the legs of your chair.”

He returned to his place before and slumped back into his seat—fell, really—and slurped from his beer, resuming a poker game and telling a story, probably the one suggested judging by the collective groan from his peers.

The undeniably gorgeous redhead Waverly was oddly fascinated with (maybe even attracted to?) flashed the softest smile she’d ever seen, before or after the Outbreak, dimples popping from her cheeks.

“Thank you so much for not shootin’,” she said, voice much gentler now than before. “I didn’t mean any of that, I swear. It’s just easier to deal with them by bein’ as much of an ass as they are. I’ve sort of become the welcome committee here, since they blast anyone who comes close. Personally, I only got in for makin’ a rude poke. How’re we supposed to get new people if they just run ‘em off?”

“I guess that doesn’t make much sense,” Waverly agreed slowly, the fear bottling up in her stomach easing greatly.

“So what can I do you for? I knew you Earps were bold, but _damn_.” She smiled still, indicating the long gun in Waverly’s grip. The proud Earp hesitantly lowered the thing, not leaving her grip, not until the tall redhead stuck out her hand. Waverly slowly slung the gun over her shoulder and shook the woman’s outstretched hand, warm and gripping impossibly gently.

“Looking for my sister,” Waverly re-established, taking back her own hand and gripping her gun’s strap on her shoulder. “Though I’m seeing how terrible an idea this was now.”

“You were just worried’s all.” The woman assured. It certainly made Waverly feel better. “I _did_ hope you Earp girls made it out. But then I’d miss the way your sister’s mouth riled the boys up. Anyway, I promise you she’s not here. If she were things wouldn’t be so calm.”

Waverly didn’t buy it. She couldn’t. “Come on, officer—um—” She shook her head. The personal appeal tactic wouldn’t work without a damn name. “It’s important. I swear you’ll never see us again. She can’t be anywhere else.”

“Haught,” the woman offered. “Nicole Haught.”

 _Haught_ , Waverly thought. _Of course._

“And officer no more, so . . .” She sighed after a short pause. “I swear I’m not lyin’.” Her honey eyes, reflecting beautifully against the fire-lit camp, searched across the way, where Bobo’s setup stood, doing no different than the current men around the two. “Wrong camp, maybe?”

“Can’t be,” Waverly stubbornly rebutted. Nicole noted the way she anxiously clawed at that shotgun strap.

“Well—Waverly, right?” The girl nodded in confirmation. “Well, Waverly—and the others’ll hate that I mentioned this—I don’t know if you noticed but it looks like there’s some other third group hidin’ out in the woods. That’s what everyone here thinks, anyway.”

“Why’s that?” she asked desperately, eyes wde. Wherever this was going, whether it was true or false, she was ready to investigate. Anything but invading Bobo Del Rey’s unwelcoming fortress. Especially as a wanted, thieving deserter.

“Plenty of us have gone missin’, too. At first we blamed Bobo, but same problem over there. Every person that went missin’ was in the woods.”

“So was Wynonna.” Waverly pinched the bridge of her nose. “A haunting’s really _not_ what I needed right now.”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Nicole offered. Waverly’s hazel-green eyes met Nicole’s browns. How one person could be so kind in their dead and broken world was mind blowing. Especially when said person was a member of Lou’s gang, of all things. Former officer or not.

“Appreciate the intel. I, uh, I guess I’ll be on my way now.”

“Do you know the area well?” the redhead asked as Waverly made to leave. “We’d love to clear it out but no one’s ever crossed too far into the place. Damn coyotes and whatnot.”

“I do, yeah.” Of course this was a lie. She and Wynonna stayed in the same place and hunted in the same place for weeks now, one person always stayed at camp, and they never slept at the same time. But if this Nicole Haught was offering, the numbers proved valuable, no question about it.

“I mean, I’ll get my ass roasted, but how’d you like to help us out? Like a guide? Maybe we’ll run into Wynonna?”

“Why even bother?” Not that Waverly _didn’t_ want the help. But a member of Lou’s gang? Offering help? Why?

“Can’t leave a pretty lady to fend for herself. Or maybe that’s just the officer in me.”

Waverly cleared her throat. Her face reddened and her heart pounded, a delightfully different sensation from before; it was still a nervous fear, but not the type that came with the possibility of getting your head blown off.

“What about ugly ladies?” she tried to play it cool. She was rewarded with the sight of those damn dimples again.

“Oh Miss Earp,” Nicole laughed, “there’s no such thing as an ugly lady.” She stuck out her hand again. “Deal?”

Waverly gladly agreed, once again grabbing the former officer’s warm, soft hand, this time flashing her own dimples and sneaking a look back into those eyes.

“Come back next sundown. Sneaking around at night is better, I’ve learned.” Waverly nodded in agreement; she and Wynonna learned this, too. “Try not to do anythin’  _too_ crazy until then.”

Waverly watched as her new ally walked off. By now Wynonna’d explain, in detail, why this was a terrible idea. Why everything would turn upside down the second they came back tomorrow, when even the sun was over with the day: because trust died with the world, and there’s no such thing besides a shady human or an infected human. But Wynonna wasn’t here. And Nicole Haught wasn’t infected or shady. Tomorrow, at sun fall, everything would be right-side up.

That’s just how it had to be.


	2. Searching for Wynonna Earp, Part Two: The Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I'd post on Saturdays but the first few chapters are ready and I saw no sense in letting them sit around, so here's chapter two!

Waverly cared not for the obnoxious comments of the again half-drunk and fully drunk men who made up Lou’s posse. Or the fact some were shit-drunk before such an important raid. A raid that could involve guns. And shooting.

Her eyes met Nicole’s figure, dressed in blue jeans and a Blue Jays jersey poking out from an unzipped coat, same old police-issue gun holster strapped securely around her waist, complete with that same black and silver patterned pistol. Most importantly, a white Stetson perched on her head. Waverly always hated when Champ played fake cowboy and stuck such a hat on his head, often to mock Uncle Curtis behind his back. She certainly paid no care for the one her cold father wore as Purgatory’s sheriff. But on Nicole? Damn.

Then those damn dimples returned and Waverly found herself aware of her uncharacteristic staring, again darting her hazel-green eyes away in a blink.

Her redheaded ally, shoulder-length locks tucked under that damn Stetson in a low ponytail instead of last night’s tired, messy bun, greeted her with a beaming smile and a happy, _Hey, you!_ Waverly noted how quickly her expression changed from annoyed scowl to world’s cutest grin. Then she was handing a pair of brown leather boots to the brown-haired Earp, who was easily unsure what to do. They were nice, though.

“Nothin’ sucks more than old shoes,” Nicole explained, accent present, as _delicious_  as that damn Stetson. “Especially when runnin’ is your most valuable weapon.”

Waverly slung her gun to its place over her shoulder. “I can’t take your shoes.”

Nicole indicated the newer-looking pair on her feet, stopping at her ankles and looking sportsy enough for long sprints. “Just found these. Besides, the boots are a little too small. Doesn’t fit anyone else here and I’d hate to waste ‘em.”

With this Waverly graciously accepted, happily tearing her pair off and swapping, wiggling her toes around the inside. Perfect fit.

“God, that’s so much better,” she sighed.

-

Off and into the woods they went. Waverly _did_ manage to prepare herself for questions of the area. Most answers were true, others were completely made up. But since most of this crew was out of it anyway she could’ve convinced them all they were actually on Mars, one billion years in the future with green overlords controlling their every move with TV remotes.

She didn’t _enjoy_ the prospect of being a conwoman (whereas Wynonna would be at home), but she really needed the numbers. If people really were getting nabbed in these woods, chances were they’d stumble across Wynonna. Whether she’d be alone or with unruly company was a concept Waverly decided to table for now. She was also never one to gamble, especially with the lives of others, but desperate times, right? Not like it’d be a total shame or tragedy if one of Lou’s heartless, drunken gangsters left the earth. Well, maybe not the case for Nicole.

What was someone like her doing with these savages, anyway? With the way she seemed to hate guns and clear distaste for her peers it didn’t seem Nicole was into their pathetic turf war, the winner only emerging after the other side was completely obliterated, corpses stacked high and wide.

An hour or two into their expedition Waverly was ready to ask. But of course, here’s where contact was made, not fast enough to sprint away from the mob’s incoming torches and dimming flashlights. Thankfully the attacker was human and not Infected or an unfriendly woodland creature ready to dispose of them. A member of the group, drunk as he was, shot them down easy. That’s when more appeared from the trees and from the distance and turned the whole thing into a shoot-out.

Nicole had led her behind a fat tree wide enough to cover them both. The former officer was smart not to let off bullets in heaps like her allies, and Waverly mirrored the concept, only blasting at those who were too close for comfort. This was her job Wynonna anyhow; to watch her back while she handled the main cause of whatever chaos they found themselves in. She never agreed with it, but it usually seemed to work; about ten percent fail rate.

A few moments of silence followed as these out-of-the-blue attackers began to scurry off. Most of the group expected more to crop up or hell, even snipers to rain on them, but nothing, nothing followed. They collected themselves, suddenly sober, and inspected each other for wounds.

Waverly and Nicole, both lucky and skillful to go unscathed, rested against the plump tree which shielded them, bark blasted all about. The rest of the temporary war zone was no different; mud raised and stacked elsewhere; patches of grass forced out; branches thin and thick, long and short detached from their trees; birds absent and chirping peacefully far, far away; leaves and even pinecones scattered about. Most unsettling, though, were the corpses. The corpses that belonged to both sides.

After everyone’s collective adrenaline died, the uninjured searched the dead woodspeoples’ bloodied jacket and pants pockets. Most looked for things they could use while others, like Nicole and soon Waverly, when she joined in, searched for any indication of where the rest of these predators were holed up. No campfires were visible in the area so clearly they hid _somewhere,_ and cleverly, at that _._ Nicole was also helpful in deflecting any insults or blame that came Waverly’s way. But Waverly knew she deserved them. She did lie about knowing the area, unpredictable ambush or no.

Soon Carl from yesterday was running back from elsewhere, bleeding and whimpering attacker slung over his shoulder like the cooling shotgun on Waverly’s. He happily kicked some information out of the man, who was dying from two bullet wounds anyway.

“A cabin!” he easily and truthfully spit out, writhing in pain no one should ever hope to feel. “A cabin in the middle of the woods! West! West from here!”

A third, simple bullet to his head ended any more of his suffering, suffering Waverly couldn’t bear to watch and Nicole tried to tune out by focusing on refilling her gun’s clip painfully slow. Then they were off, injured or not, ready to end this horror-movie-mass-kidnapping nonsense. No further questions were asked, nor insults nor blame. Not from any of the pride-hurt men now on a revenge quest, not by deathly serious combat mode Nicole Haught and certainly not by loathing-this-all Waverly Earp.

-

Waverly actually knew where the cabin of interest was. She and Wynonna saw it in the past, back when they first left Bobo and had no choice but to go into hiding. Wynonna considered trying to claim the place, but even in her desperation she knew it was a stupid, risky idea.

Hour four of this expedition rolled along long before they finally spotted their target. Waverly wasn’t sure how she even remembered where to go, but she wasn’t ready to throw down the questions just yet. More drinks were drunk, guns cocked in harmony, flashlights and makeshift torches were double checked and relit, and synced footsteps marched for the tiny cabin, probably once home to a lone, quiet hunter. By the looks of it said hunter was either really racking up their kill count or lost it all, easily replaced by their home’s new residents.

One of those drinks quickly transformed into a Molotov cocktail, lit ablaze with the use of a rusted old lighter and hurled through one of the tastefully done cabin’s detailed windows, brushing just past the frame finished with unique, hand-carved patterns inside and out. All apparent victims caught by these people were locked up like animals in handmade cages outside, probably shivering awfully in the cold sting of early winter. Luckily snow hadn’t fallen yet.

The inhabitants of the getaway home not made to house dozens rushed out. They figured they’d never by followed by this gang who bested them, not out into the practical nowhere they resided in the pitch-blackness of night. Even Nicole let off three continuous shots from the weapon masterfully handled between her careful fingers. Waverly had more room to be generous, having found more shells off those they ended before. She handled the rough shotgun like nothing despite her petite frame, something Nicole noticed, impressed. She even laughed at the fake insult from last night. These Earps were bold and tough as hell, and maybe a little crazy, too, but she couldn’t deny she would never feel as comfortable as she did right now with a partner who wasn’t as bold, tough, and a little crazy as the shotgun-wielding ass-kicker next to her. It’d only been four hours and two small encounters with the death and danger that was their world now, but there was no denying Waverly Earp was a force of nature. Nicole almost didn’t want this to end. With this woman, the one who suddenly _appeared_ in their camp the night before, single shotgun at the ready and demanding her sister, by her side, for once she considered maybe things would be alright. These feelings were beyond premature, only knowing her for a mere four hours and the few minutes from yesterday, but she knew something else was at play here. Something that was certainly abnormal and perhaps even special? If only the world wasn’t such a mess.

-

Waverly left to look around. The sole survivor of their opposition graciously told his armed superiors his people were here only to prey on the wild and humanlife nearby, surviving with practically no struggle because they basically hit the jackpot. Most of their captives were local, a dozen or so being travelers passing through the trees to avoid Bobo and Lou’s silly, rather loud squabble. He mentioned someone along Wynonna’s look and mouth was nearly taken but got away, injured. That’s when Waverly left in a hurry to comb out the area.

Bobo’s men happily left for their own people, only a handful thanking their rivals and fewer even defecting. All but two of the travelers joined up as well. The fire the Molotov cocktail made was long snuffed out by their dead foes, so the cabin was ransacked, then camp was made for the night and drinks returned to hands. A small shotgun-blasting brunette returned too in a moment, more worried than ever knowing Wynonna was out there, injured, and left behind no clues to follow.

She was offered a beer by a kinder member of Lou’s gang and accepted, afterwards settling by a small campfire accompanied by what she recognized as Nicole’s backpack. She searched for the mediator, probably breaking up a fight between two heavily intoxicated morons. She wanted to be smooth, because the former officer made her heart race, and frankly right now she craved a distraction. Not to mention how well and perhaps naturally they worked together today, escaping two shoot-outs with no injuries or near-death tales to show for it. They didn’t even need to communicate. Bizarre, considering she and Wynonna always barked orders neither typically followed, despite the mostly-successful system they already played. But then siblings _were_ always fighting, weren’t they? Boy would she grill Waverly once she learned all the things she did to find her.

Nicole was genuinely sorry about Wynonna’s absence, now truly gone without a trace. She reassured her worried ally she’d turn up, placing a caring hand to the youngest Earp’s denim-clad thigh. A short silence and half a beer in, they talked about their _killer_ chemistry in the field, tearing down their targets without a word spoken or a bullet taken. Waverly tried to avoid the growing sensitive subject of her sister but laughed about how they’d argue mid shoot-out, death around the corner but still finding the time to disagree about who gets to shoot who and when. Nicole admitted she had many partners over the years since the Outbreak and in the force before, but none could amount to their next-level teamwork.

“Kind of impressive,” she added, sipping the beer she usually tried to avoid. After four stressful hours in a death-lurking-at-every-turn type situation she knew she deserved it. As an officer Nicole was fine with combat. As a survivor in a literal apocalypse fighting cannibals and tough-as-nails equivalent of zombies, she hated it. Especially when her only back up was drunken men with terrible accuracy and not sober, trained police officers.

Waverly had been staring into Nicole’s shimmering eyes. She loved the way they shined in the light—she didn’t care how long she looked now. Not that Nicole minded. Liquid courage, Waverly guessed, considering whatever this was, whatever she seemed to feel for this confident, glowing woman next to her. A small part of her hoped for more than staring, before her stomach flipped and she mentally changed the subject.

“How did someone like you end up with Lou?” she asked, finally. “And as a _trusted_ member?”

Nicole chuckled to herself, running a finger across her own bottle. “I stumbled into them about the time both Bobo and Lou started to split the place up into their epic, big-boy forts.”

Waverly smiled at the idea of Bobo and Lou as kids, piling up couch cushions and blankets and pretending to shoot each other. It’d certainly be a better reality than _this_.

Nicole went on, “I had just left my old group. So I wasn’t exactly ready to deal with some pub-smellin’ redneck stickin’ a taped-together shotgun in my face. I got a look at the beer in his hand, in a damn can of all things—”

“What?” Waverly laughed. “What’s wrong with canned beer?”

“It’s a beer, not a soda! So I get a look at this guy’s brew. Coor’s Lite.” She shuddered. “He lets out some dumb threat but I looked him dead in the eyes and went, ‘Coor’s Lite? Seriously? What could you possibly do to me?’ Then everyone had a laugh and here I am.”

Waverly laughed again. “Oh, Wynonna would love you.” She downed her bottle’s last sip, but kept it between her hands. “How’d you become everyone’s designated babysitter?”

“They like to get drunk and shoot at inanimate objects and things they dream up. No surprise when Infected showed up one day. And of course no one had any ammo. I almost got bit like five or six times. Figure bein’ a babysitter’s better than bein’ bit.”

“No argument there.”

Nicole grinned contagiously, so Waverly followed. “So what’s next for you, Waverly Earp? Once you find your sister alive and well.”

The youngest Earp set her empty bottle down at last, leaning to rest her elbows on her thighs. “First I’ll slap her and revoke our dumb one-person-hunts-other-watches-camp rule.”

“Firm but fair,” Nicole snorted.

“Then we’ll finally get out of here. With the woods cleared out and all.”

“Then on to a better town?” Nicole took a short sip of her brew. “Sounds like a dream.”

“Up north, actually. Someone slipped her a map while we were with Bobo. We planned on leaving anyway. She knew it was shady but figured anywhere but here was better.” Waverly rubbed at her neck. “But we weren’t expecting Bobo to get all riled up and chase after us in such a fury. Then these cannibal jerks showed up, so leaving through the woods was too risky. It was a miracle we even avoided them for so long.”

“Things are lookin’ up, then.”

“Unless I can’t find Wynonna. We already lost our sister, Willa.” She let out a breath, shaking her head slightly. “I can’t lose Wynonna, too.”

Nicole’s caring hand returned to her thigh. “Wynonna sounds tough as hell. I bet she’s fine, probably harassin’ whatever’s keepin’ her from you.”

Waverly’s hand reached for the back of Nicole’s, hazel-green eyes meeting the pair of glowing browns in front of her. “Thanks, Nicole.” The redhead gave a reassuring smile before taking her hand back. “In the morning I’ll try our old camp. For now I think I’ll get some rest.” She placed her own hand on Nicole’s thigh now, staring back into her welcoming eyes. “Thanks again. For everything.”

 _And sorry I lied,_ she added in her head.

Nicole flashed her dimples, smiling her gentle smile. “No problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also want to thank you for all the kudos and lovely comments and giving this thing a read. Means a lot!


	3. Searching For Wynonna Earp, Part Three: Officer Down

The horizon showed no signs of bursting with purples and reds and oranges as a smaller, much different, fire-generated oranges and almost white overtook Nicole’s vision. Somehow she knew only a couple hours passed since she finally nodded off to sleep. She could blame her suffering sleep schedule on the day-shortening Daylight Savings Time winter always brought, never failing to leave her in a confused haze of, _Wait, that’s the time?_ But she knew the fixed time schedule and sleep itself were concepts long lost, along with the world she knew. Sometimes she considered adopting the same nightly, get-black-out-drunk tradition her peers used for the sake of sleep, but there was no way she planned on dying from liver failure, certainly not after surviving the horrors thrown at her since the Outbreak. (But maybe if she joined in someone would finally explain what black hole supplied their endless supply of beers.)

Gunshots and shouting roused her from her self-pity and any feelings of exhaustion. At least for now. She was ready to jump to her feet and shout back at the others for generating noise like a bunch of merry fools, but she found no sign of merry, alcohol-induced cheer, but of the do-or-die fear everyone felt at least once a day; they were under attack.

She shook Waverly awake—the small woman swearing then apologizing when she saw Nicole and not her older sister—and the two hunched over and sprinted for an overturned picnic table for cover. The man already here, larger and luckiest in poker, was questioned by Nicole on this rude wake up call.

“Bobo’s men,” he grumbled. “We saved those shits and they bring back the cavalry on us! While we sleep! Some idiot guessed they thought this whole thing was a scheme. Make ‘em defect to us or somethin’.”

“That’s one elaborate scheme,” Nicole mumbled.

“Bunch of people ran for the cabin, others left to ‘get backup’. Lyin’ shits.”

“Infected!” Waverly warned from Nicole’s right side. The man on her left became panicked and quickly prepared to quit the place for the group’s main camp in town, despite just criticizing such an idea.

“Stevie!” Nicole called after him.

“Human assholes I can deal with. Not Infected!” he shouted back, moving from a jog to a full-on sprint. “You just make it out, Haught!”

“Appreciate the concern,” Nicole grumbled again.

“To the cabin?” Waverly asked.

Nicole peeked over the table, ducking down immediately to avoid an airborne bullet zooming for the table before trying again. She wondered how they managed to avoid attracting Infected before, while Bobo’s men brought them in like backup. Maybe they took a different route over and were followed? Waverly noted how her hands actually shook at the sight of the new invaders.

“Doesn’t seem safe,” Nicole answered. “Bobo’s men’re probably tryin’ to get inside, too.”

“Turn tail and run, then?” Waverly suggested again. Nicole nodded after consideration, shifting to run.

“No reason to stick around.”

Waverly agreed with a nod of her own and off they ran again, first back for their things resting at the ongoing campfire, which refused to stop despite the current climate. They were already a good distance from the gathering behind them but some were still kind enough to shoot in their direction. Even Infected began to give them attention in their corner, the sight shaking Nicole’s hands more and threatening her concentration. Waverly nearly forgot her low stock of shotgun shells, blasting any Runners who crossed into their vicinity. By the looks of it only Runners filled the area. Lucky break; Clickers would be another tale.

They were both smart enough and practiced enough to shoot at the legs of further pursuers, or the heads of those who lingered too close. Ignoring the unhelpful, crappy lighting and certain death and the horror it brought, knotting stomachs and pulsing hearts, both were doing pretty well.

Until Nicole froze, ceasing her steady pace and steady, trustworthy aim.

Waverly swore her own heart stopped. She waved her dim flashlight over Nicole’s figure. Was she hit? Bobo’s men were still running around, also back to town, but they were actually playing smart and focused on their own issues.

“Nicole, what’s wrong?” She was practically shouting. Her focus returned to the growing, shouting mob of Infected behind them and her arms raised her weapon for another blast. Nicole suddenly shoved the gun upward, and Waverly instead shot at the harmless, pitch-black sky. Hopefully it was empty of any passing birds.

“No, stop!” she yelled, brown eyes absent of shine, staring intensely onto this cursed crowd. She moved her own, brighter flashlight about, as if searching for someone. She suddenly stopped, and her eyes widened.

“Nicole, what is the matter?” her partner half-demanded. No answer. No time to argue, Waverly repositioned herself to aim and shoot again. That’s when she felt the heat of her now-questionable ally’s pistol against her jaw.

“Don’t you fuckin’ shoot,” she warned, sternly. Waverly’s hands were the ones shaking now.

“Nicole, what—”

“Leave Shae alone!”

Waverly surveyed the area. They were lucky; the shooting and shouting and stomping from Bobo’s men nearby was drawing Runners away from them. They had some time to try and focus on whatever _this_ was. And maybe resolve it _fast._

Waverly raised her hands in surrender, throwing her shotgun back over her shoulder. As scary as Nicole was acting, Waverly reached for the pistol in her hand. Nicole hesitated for a moment before changing her mind, fighting whatever was going on in there, but luckily Waverly already had the weapon in her mind. She made note Nicole had trusted her, even if only for a split second.

“Nicole, you’re going to get us both killed,” she tried to reason, voice trying to create an image of safety. Her partner shook her head slowly, her odd rage returning as well.

“I won’t let you shoot her.”

“Nicole, what the h—”

The redhead collapsed backwards, onto the grassy, muddy ground of these woods, Stetson flying off her head. Waverly spun around and prevented the same to happening to her with a simple blast from Nicole’s own pistol to the gun that shot her, dead center of the chest. Because now was the time to take out your enemies. Waverly spared the hooded culprit a threatening look despite the low lighting instead of another bullet and they were off, fearing not the smaller woman’s promise of pain but the promise of infection approaching them. Waverly spared the one person she thought she could trust in this shit situation one last glare, gasping on the ground and swearing between heavy breaths and grasping for something, anything to help her.

But Waverly couldn’t leave, even with whatever the hell just happened.

With a roll of her eyes and a long stream of swears and self-cursing Waverly yanked Nicole—who, curiously, wasn’t bleeding—to her feet and helped her along. She even returned that black and silver pistol to its rightful owner. And that damn hat. Nicole seemed to snap back to reality from wherever her mind went, shooting at Runners who were finally and easily catching up to them in their slowed state. Most of the zombie-esque monsters targeted Bobo’s men now, larger groups who, somehow, were still slower than the duo. They were lucky to have gotten away, settling behind a thick patch of trees off-course from town. If no one was headed here Infected wouldn’t be here, Waverly figured. She generously slid Nicole against a tree and onto the ground. The two caught their breaths a moment before Waverly ripped open the button-up Nicole had changed into last night. There the cruel bullet was, lodged into a thick bulletproof vest wrapped around the former officer’s long torso.

“Kept it,” Nicole explained, panting. “Waverly, I’m so sorry.”

Waverly, chest still heaving, angrily slammed down her shotgun. “How about a frickin’ explanation, huh?” She bit. She motioned for Nicole to remove the vest, retrieving something from her bulky backpack.

“You don’t have to do that,” Nicole protested. “It’s just a bruise.”

Still, she continued the process, treating the bruise on Nicole’s chest, no different from the many she used to treat on Wynonna, before and after the Outbreak. “I’m waiting.”

Nicole let out a small laugh before wincing at her aching sternum. “Thank you for not leavin’. Or shootin’.”

“You shouldn’t be nice to me. I really did almost leave you.”

“But you didn’t. And you had good reason to. I’m sorry for bein’ such an asshole before.”

“Care to finally explain why?” She handed Nicole a quarter-empty pill bottle holding painkillers, something that quickly became a huge rarity.

“No, I’ll be fine,” Nicole refused, pushing the bottle away. Waverly insisted, pushing it forward again. “I swear I’m fine.”

Waverly sighed at the familiar stubbornness before setting the bottle aside. “Well, it’s here if you need it.” She moved to button up Nicole’s shirt and readjust the vest but was beaten to it. Instead she began snapping twigs from heavy, drooping branches that grazed the ground.

“I thought I saw Shae,” Nicole began to explain after a moment. “I guess I sometimes see her when I don’t sleep. Or dream her up, maybe?”

“Best start sleeping, then.” Waverly dropped her gathered sticks into a small pile then retrieved a lighter from her bag. “Who is Shae, exactly? Family member?”

“My wife.” The words threw Waverly off-guard and even made her pause, feel some strange emptiness. She didn’t know why.  “She was a doctor. Really didn’t get much of a warnin’ before she got bit.”

“God, Nicole, I’m so sorry.”

Those brown eyes lit up spectacularly in the newborn light, but stared at the ground in despair. Waverly wished she didn’t ask.

“It was her damn day off,” Nicole continued. “But someone needed a last minute cover. She didn’t want to go but I convinced her. If she didn’t go, she’d—” Nicole paused.

Waverly said nothing more, hugging her folded legs closer to her chest after she sat. She _really_ shouldn’t have asked. Nicole rested her head back a moment before giving another small chuckle.

“We weren’t gonna last,” she said. “We got married in a drunken fever in Vegas. We tried to make it work, since I was travelin’ and didn’t technically live anywhere anyway.” 

Waverly gave her a curious look, one that wondered if Nicole was implying she was homeless.

“I lived where I lived to attend the police academy,” she explained. “When I graduated I didn’t know where to go next. She picked up a job soon after college and I settled in as a rookie officer.” Nicole sighed, eyes closed. “I think we just liked the idea of each other, you know?”

Waverly nodded. If the Outbreak never happened she’d probably be with Champ Hardy, of all people, probably talking about the rest of their lives. He was definitely nothing more than an idea. It just took the end of the world to see that, was all.

“But I still sent her to her death. ‘Go save some lives’, I said. That was supposed to be my job, too, but I still fled town, left people to die.” She breathed a chuckle. “I’d make a fine sheriff someday.”

The thought of Nicole even seeing herself on par with, well, _Ward Earp_ was sickening.

“Nicole—” she tried, but the former officer shook her head.

“Let’s just get some sleep, yeah? Figure this all out in the mornin’.”

Waverly nodded. Her voice became quiet. “Yeah, okay. Just holler if you need anything.”

Nicole smiled at the offer, dimples flashing. The sight was a relief.


	4. Searching For Wynonna Earp, Part Four: A Familiar Face . . . And A Few New Ones

There it was: those wide, endless purples and oranges that painted the sky every morning in a shameless symphony. The way the oranges both overpowered the darker purples and somehow blended the two together in a fat swirl was really something else. It was impossible to deny the view as Nicole stared, head still rested against rough bark.

At this point, sleep wasn’t worth the effort. She wasn’t sure if the usual demons were shaking her awake or if this place full of uncertain, unpredictable death kept her eyes wide. Her dark eyes, still tired, focused on the smaller woman curled up next to her, deep in sleep and warm thanks to the fire she started. Still leaned against this tree, chest throbbing something awful, Nicole smiled. She smiled because, despite the earlier episode—which should’ve inspired her to try even harder to sleep, especially seeing as it wasn’t the first of its kind—she caused, Waverly didn’t shoot and didn’t leave. She even tried to talk her down. It was a nice change from one of the boys knocking her out. Still, putting that trust in someone she met just the night before? Waverly Earp was either kind hearted or flat out insane.

But maybe that’s because Waverly felt it, too, that special _something_ between them that manifested in such a short amount of time. The stolen glances, the racing hearts, the unspoken communication—there was no way something _wasn’t_ happening here. Nothing Nicole was ready for, but something she’d love to see play out. In another world . . .

This special, smaller, sleeping woman jumped awake the same way Nicole was ripped from her thoughts by a single, booming gunshot. No doubt it was close. Did Bobo’s men come back to clear out the Infected, if they were even still here? Or did some fool _want_ them to rampage through the trees again?

Waverly immediately took initiative and grabbed her black shotgun, a weapon whose kick should’ve been too powerful to handle. At this point, though, Nicole knew it was barely an issue.

“Will you be okay while I go and find whatever _that_ was?” she asked Nicole, though she looked as if she were still sleeping, messy hair and near-blank expression and all.

“I’ll join you,” Nicole answered, groaning as she moved to stand. Waverly rushed over to help.

“Are you sure?” She indicated her partner’s injured chest.

“First rule of Murder Forest: don’t split up.”

“Right. ‘Cause then you get murdered.”

Nicole nodded, satisfied. “She gets it.”

The two grabbed their packs, snuffed out that fire, put guns in hands, and off they went to prevent the next thing ready to kill them.

“Did you sleep well?” Waverly checked in. Nicole smiled in appreciation.

“Not a blink,” she revealed. Waverly sighed.

“You should’ve taken the darn pills.”

“Hey, last year I dislocated my shoulder, not a single pill taken.” Nicole shrugged. “This is nothin’.”

“Uh-huh. Go on another rampage and I might just bump you over the head with your own gun.”

Nicole laughed. “That’s what the guys usually do.”

Waverly stopped walking. “Wait, what?” Nicole nodded reassuringly, much to Waverly’s horror. “Jesus, they’ll give you brain damage!”

They continued on, Nicole still laughing. “I’ve got a tough noggin, don’t worry.”

“That’s what Wynonna says six shots in about her liver.”

“If you have a high tolerance, why waste it?”

“Geez, she says the same thing! Excuse me if I’m—”

A gun cocking behind them stopped everything they were doing—their conversation and any afterthoughts, their search, everything. They turned slowly to find a dark-skinned man, dog tags dangling from his neck, almost Nicole’s height. His black pistol with attached flashlight was military issue, as was the deathly serious expression on his face and buzzed hair on his head. All changed when his chocolate eyes met Waverly from behind her extended shotgun.

“Waverly Earp?” he asked, tone still serious despite his slightly changed facial expression. It sort of represented a surprised look.

“Do I know you?” the woman in question asked.

“I know your sister.”

“Is that a threat or kind information?” she asked again, following protocols set by Wynonna. Encounters with strangers weren’t a joke. Then again, she _did_ walk into a whole camp of guns turned against her one night ago.

The man lowered his gun, hands placed in surrender. Neither of the girls let up, weapons still at the ready.

“She’s back at my camp,” he offered.

“We’re not going to a camp,” Waverly shot back. She didn’t need Wynonna’s rules to know where that could lead.

“But you can bring her here,” Nicole added, also aware of such a trick.

“Okay,” he complied, “I’ll—”

“Yo, what’s the hold up, sarge?” A new voice chimed, striding to the stranger, arms swinging about. “Boy scouts pullin’ your tightly-wound boxers? Hangry little fuc—” Her banter died as quick as Nicole and Waverly’s earlier conversation, the sight of Waverly killing her snarky smirk and dropping her jaw. “Waverly?”

This newcomer, curly-haired, blue-eyed, leather-clad and the polar opposite of her apparent partner sprinted to Waverly, both dropping their weapons in their mutual excitement.

Finally, after endless nights of panic, the Earp sisters were reunited.

-

“ . . . So Dolls here found me, all shot up and bleeding all over my favorite shirt, took me in and patched me up. I was back on my feet yesterday, ‘cause this guy has the _good_ stuff. Well, him and his lackey.”

The Earp sisters happily sat together at the small fire in Dolls’s camp—the only name the man from before provided—and caught up in a haste, as if they were going to be separated again at any moment.

“I’ll say. Put Nicole right to sleep.”

“Drugging a girl’s freshly-cooked deer meat? That’s cold, sis. I approve.”

“I’ve had plenty of practice. You two aren’t so different, you know.”

The sisters’ gazes met the still form that was Nicole Haught’s at last sleeping figure just across from them. Earlier Dolls had been out hunting for the day and today, being the luckiest of his days, he not only stumbled across a missing Earp but a deer fit for a feast. Though only he, Nicole, and Wynonna actually feasted on the poor thing. Waverly, alongside Dolls’s much cheerier and younger partner Jeremy Chetri, still preferred anything absent of meat. Luckily things hadn’t gotten desperate enough to abandon this practice. Waverly had spotted a small gathering of painkillers—the stronger, _good stuff_ that put people to sleep—and slipped some into Nicole’s breakfast. Hopefully she wouldn’t be too mad.

Wynonna found it curious how long Waverly was staring now. After a too-long stare down Waverly finally added, “Also, I think I’m gay?”

Wynonna shook her head. “You’ve picked such a great time to find yourself. So proud.” She waved her hands vaguely. “Literal end-of-the-world apocalypse. But good, it’s about damn time you looked into yourself. So what’s her deal? Hired muscle?”

Waverly hadn’t told her side of their reuniting in too much detail. She knew she’d be in for a lecture and she didn’t feel like ruining the mood.

“She’s with Lou,” she explained, still brief.

“So I’ve heard,” Wynonna mumbled. “You’re hiding something, aren’t you? This is like the third time you’ve repeated yourself.”

“Don’t be mad?” she asked of her sister, tone raised.

Wynonna shot her an annoyed look. “Keep lying and I’ll be pretty peeved.”

“I ran out of places to look so I kind of, um, marched into Lou’s camp and demanded they hand you over. Don’t be mad!”

Wynonna slapped her sister’s arm. “What if they shot you, you little shit?”

“Well, they didn’t,” she defended. She took another peek at Nicole, still sprawled out on the ground, fast sleep. “Okay, they _almost_ did—”

Wynonna slapped her arm again, this time much harder. “Dude, are you serious?”

“—but Nicole stopped them!” she finished, holding her reddening arm. Last time she took her jacket off. “She stops them from doing stupid things all the time. It’s kind of her thing.”

“Oh god, what is she, a cop? ‘Cause Dolls is already a hotshot military douche and Jeremy, well, he never shuts up. So basically a cop already.”

“She was a cop,” Waverly winced. Wynonna groaned.

“Was she a Firefly like these two, too?”

“They were Fireflies?”

“You didn’t see Dolls’s tags? One military, one Firefly. Back in the day he wasn’t happy with what they were doing so off to the next best thing he went. I had to schmooze him all the way up to friendship level eight for that info, by the way.”

“Aw, you made a friend!”

“He’s like a locked chest,” Wynonna chose to ignore. “With one _hell_ of a chest,” she added, smirking to whatever thoughts were piling up in her head.

Now Waverly ignored, “What happened then?”

“Same thing that happens to all separated Fireflies: military wiped his group out. He grabbed Algebra Junior over there and off they ran. They weren’t the only ones who got out but they were the only poor saps to come over here. I guess he didn’t want to stick around the other survivors. Maybe they smiled too much for his taste. I warned him about Bobo before he could meet him, though. He never said thanks, the douche.”

Waverly looked over to the boys, both hunched over a map, discussing where they’d go next. “That’s terrible,” she mumbled.

“Well, I hope you like RoboCop and his awkward constable, because I think we’re joining them. Not the Fireflies, I mean, but maybe they’ll be around for most of the ride.”

“It would be nice to have backup,” Waverly accepted.

“And even nicer to have you _and_ Dolls to argue with.” Wynonna smiled devilishly. “It’ll just make victory more satisfying.”

“Hooray,” she accepted again.

“And you can bring your tall red friend. Then fall in love and let me play the role of the disapproving older sister.”

Waverly’s heart was too busy sinking for her to make a smart remark of her own. She hadn’t thought about leaving town and Nicole Haught with it. Fast feelings aside, letting her stay among Lou’s crew to be a babysitter and caught between the stupid turf war seemed cruel. But would she even—

Wait, did Wynonna say “fall in love”?

“As if she’d take me,” she accidentally muttered. Maybe Wynonna didn’t hear.

“If she rejects you of all people I’ll kick the red right out of her hair.”

She heard. But sweet, for Wynonna. Waverly smiled, stealing another glance at Nicole, arms wrapped around her thinner backpack.

“How about you and Dolls?” she asked after a moment. Wynonna gave a stern but panicked glare.

“Who, Stone Face the Silent and Dismissive? No thanks. Rather do a cowboy with a porn star mustache.”

Waverly looked over at Dolls, still planning a route to wherever with Jeremy. “Great butt, though.”

“Yep,” her sister admitted.

“I know you’ve been staring. At all of him, not just what he has to _offer_.”

“Gross, dude. I don’t know. We had a decent talk last night. Like, about life. He’s cool when he’s not in ‘Soldier Mode’. Maybe in a different world.”

Waverly looked to Nicole again, still peaceful in her much-needed and much-deserved slumber. “Maybe in a different world,” she agreed.

-

When nightfall prepared to strike again Dolls, Jeremy, Wynonna, and Waverly (and hopefully Nicole) planned to leave town using the woods. The dark was extra insurance in case of Infected, Bobo’s or even Lou’s useless men, or perhaps a cruel passerby still lingering in the area. They had too many valuable supplies to take risks, though traveling with only controlled vision wasn’t much of an advantage. Dolls’s counter: most people sleep during the night. The Earps lucked out, too, as a Firefly setup the boys had interest in was near the destination marked on their mystery map.

In the meantime Waverly got to know Jeremy, who indeed was as awkward and nerdy as Wynonna implied. Dolls spent the afternoon doing some more hunting, stocking up for their journey. Around this time Nicole finally woke, apologizing right away for falling asleep so suddenly and for so long. (Wynonna was sure to add, “Wow, it’s like someone slipped something into your breakfast.” Waverly tried not to react or panic or let her head explode but Nicole only laughed and said she’d be thankful. So Wynonna’d get away with this one.)

Then Dolls was back as the sun slipped away for the evening and everyone was packing and wrapping up long conversations. Nicole knew the plan but decided to return to what she knew in Lou’s setup. Again, Waverly felt her heart sink. But that didn’t mean she was ready to give up.

“You don’t belong with them, you know,” she was saying, marching up to Nicole as she prepared to take off. She at least stayed until everyone else planned to do the same. So clearly she wasn’t eager to return to Lou’s.

“I’ll miss you too,” the redhead laughed, her accent suppressed as it’d been all day. Waverly didn’t ask, and it didn’t seem Nicole was doing it on purpose or even noticed. She zipped up her backpack, intended for hiking but perfect for the apocalypse, and threw it over her shoulder.

Waverly continued, “They’re rowdy and drunk and stupid and you’re a good person who deserves better. Those idiots’ll just get you killed.”

“I’m not fond of them either,” Nicole admitted. Waverly was relieved. “But I like their numbers, stupid and drunk and rowdy or not. I like that I can’t count my backup on one hand. Or even two.”

“Okay, but what happens when Bobo and Lou and everyone with them finally destroy each other?” She leaned closer, “No backup on _any_ hand. Or even finger.”

“Thinkin’ about my fingers, huh?” Nicole smirked as Waverly’s face reddened. “I’ll figure it out. Just promise you won’t drug me?”

Waverly dropped her head. “God, I’m so sorry about that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Oh no, I’m not mad. I haven’t slept that well since we still had a society. A society absent of zombies and cabins full of cannibals. Well, zombies. You never know with cannibals.” Waverly peeked up at her, eyes still guilty and head still bowed in shame. “Seriously, it’s alright. Not to mention my chest feels _awesome._ I would happily do it again.”

Waverly sighed as her head returned to its usual upward position. At least Jeremy was around her height. “You don’t belong with them or in this shit town, that’s all I’m saying. You’re more than a bad guy in all this.”

Now Nicole was sighing, even bowing her own head for a moment, but eyes lost rather than guilty. “Good and bad died with the world.”

Waverly placed a hand to Nicole’s shoulder. “Bad guys shoot at lone thieves who stomp into their camp, demanding their sister.”

“No one shot because they were drunk.”

“You weren’t. You had your gun but you didn’t even touch it. You talked the others down, too. It wasn’t your first time, either. Also, I know for a fact them being drunk isn’t a rarity.”

Dimples flashed again as Nicole smiled her beautiful smile, ducking her head abashedly. Waverly just wasn’t giving up. It was adorable.

“Look, I don’t wanna overstay my welcome.”

Waverly crossed her arms, making sure to throw the taller woman a stern look. “Right, because an extra, _trained_ gun would be such a bad idea.”

“I was thinking more in the supplies department.”

“An extra pair of eyes for scavenging?” she tried again. Nicole laughed.

“I feel like I don’t have much of a choice.”

Waverly perked up. “So you’ll stay?”

Nicole sighed, pausing a moment. “I would love to, but—I don’t know, I just—”

“It’s okay,” Waverly forced herself to accept, as much as she didn’t want to. “Really, it’s okay.” She wanted to choke on her words. This couldn’t be it for them. “Whatever happens here, I hope you stay safe. And if the world ever goes back to normal, maybe I’ll owe you a cup of coffee.”

The thought of the world going back to the way it was, after all this, seemed beyond impossible. But now that Waverly offered a coffee meetup, well, the world better figure itself out.

“I can’t tell you how much I’d like that,” Nicole freely and happily accepted. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.” She gave a tip of her pale Stetson and turned to leave, one hand gripping her backpack strap. “See you around, Earp.” And with a wink, she was off.

Waverly couldn’t bear to say goodbye, only watch as Nicole disappeared in the pitch-black woods, forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just add how much fun it is writing dialogue for Wynonna Earp?


	5. A Severed Earp, Part One: Ain't Feelin' So Haught

Judging from the corpses littered across the concrete and asphalt, spilling enough blood to fill a stuck-up rich guy’s pool three times over, the Infected were taken care of. The sight and smell of death, the lifeless faces displaying a person’s very last feeling, be it brain rotting-rage or sorrow, fit the place nicely. It told travelers all they needed to know.

For once, Nicole tried to be social with her peers. Maybe she was too used to conversation now; she talked to the Earps more in two days than the past two years to anyone else. Said peers, buzzed and beyond, gave her a drunken cheer and a  _Knew you’d make it, Haught!_ and she returned to her usual tent. She dropped everything off and joined the others in all their intoxicated glory, tried to fit in. She forced a laugh out here and there, but not much else. She just didn’t feel right. More than normal, anyway.

Somewhere along the way she gave up and returned to her tent alone, its other assigned residents always asleep outside, never quite making it in. These people were a piece of work sober, though, so no complaints. Even if they _were_ stupid while drunk. But then that was the theme around here, apparently.

It was clear now Nicole made a huge mistake. She couldn’t help but feel she sent yet another person she cared for to their deaths. In the Outbreak there was no way to help Shae—her fate was sealed the moment she left to pick up that shift, at Nicole’s advice. Then there was her old group, two years ago.

When tragedy struck Nicole’s town she, shamefully, abandoned the place, planning to find her family. Her parents, not her biggest fans anyway, were already long gone. Only her brother and sister remained. The three as a whole weren’t exactly close, and certainly didn’t enjoy how Nicole, the youngest, took charge, but they got by. Then they had a bad run-in with Infected.

The three and their growing group needed to pass through Infected who sprung up from nowhere, as they usually did. Everything turned upside-down in a blink, and it was all Nicole’s fault. One Clicker passed by too close for comfort, and she nervously gripped her cocked gun too hard and accidentally let off a shot. As they ran off she told her brother escape while she distracted the herd, knowing they were only inbound because of her. Her luck already deep in the dirt, some still followed him. Guilty, she left her only family, her sister, for good, along with the others they grew to trust and here she was now, with the rowdiest of the rowdy, alone in a tent feeling sorry for herself.

A part of her knew Waverly was right when she said she didn’t belong here. But Nicole’s fear of repeating that incident was too great. She thought herself destructive, even. And, again, here she was, alone in a tent feeling sorry for herself.

Worst yet, it was the first time in a while she felt surviving was worth it. Because _damn_ was there something special about those Earp girls. Especially _that_ Earp girl.

 _That_ Earp girl who didn’t pull a gun on her.

 _That_ Earp girl who tried to talk her down, figure out why she was so panicked.

 _That_ Earp girl who didn’t leave her as she hallucinated, writhing on the ground with a fresh bullet wound.

 _That_ Earp girl who dragged Nicole along, despite her small figure, unsure if she’d even make it, then proceeded to care for the wound Nicole received.

 _That_ Earp girl who listened to Nicole’s pathetic tale of how she failed Shae, someone she wasn’t even sure she loved, and still tried to convince her to join them on their journey.

 _That_ Earp girl who wouldn’t take the damn boots but made sure Nicole slept and wasn’t in pain, no matter how guilty she felt for the tough love approach she took.

 _Haught, sometimes you’re damn stupid,_ Shae’s voice echoed in her head.

Waverly had her Wynonna back. Now she had Dolls, a man who seemed beyond capable and was armed to the teeth, and Jeremy Chetri, a super brain who’d probably find the cure if he had the right tools. But she _wanted_ Nicole to stay. Not because they’d need the backup, not because she didn’t feel safe, but because she wanted _Nicole_ to feel safe. She wanted _Nicole_ to be in a better place, one where she could finally focus on herself and not the drunken idiots threatening to get everyone killed by drawing attention to the _sound-detecting,_ disease-spreading monsters.

 _Stop worrying about others and worry about yourself for once,_ her brother’s voice echoed in her head. Last words he spoke to her.

“Damn you and your dime-store advice, Michael Haught,” Nicole groaned. She sprang off her back and to her feet, grabbing at her still-packed bag.

-

“With my luck they’re long gone,” she mumbled as she left the premises with purpose, through the front, of all places. Luckily no one kept tabs on anyone so she wasn’t stopped and no one blinked, not that she left often. It was a miracle they hadn’t been overtaken by spies working for Bobo.

She made it to the outskirts of town, turning back to spare the place one last look. It was never paradise, but it sure beat going at it alone. Now the next best thing came along—perhaps the last, _ultimate_ best thing—and the time came for parting.

When she turned again to face the tangle of trees and the uncertain future, a slender, bronze-skinned woman appeared. She donned that beautiful red dress that originally caught Nicole’s attention the night they met in that Vegas bar, where Nicole’s initial plans for the evening involved getting wasted and passing out who knows where. As one would expect in Vegas, the usual cliché happened, the one where too much drink too much dance and too much hands ends at a drive-thru chapel, waking the next morning dazed and confused then wide awake and straight to  _Oh, shit._

Nicole easily learned to hate that dress. Alcohol and bars, too. Yet, she still hung around both gleefully. She didn’t know why.

“Figures you’d be here now,” Nicole muttered, usual accent in full, hopeful mood gone without a trace. “You almost got someone killed yesterday, you know. I almost pulled the damn trigger.”

The woman before her crossed her arms, shooting a disapproving glare. “Sorry hon,” she said, “I’m not fond of Infected. Not to mention her gun was pointed at _me._ Luckily I had a valiant hero—”

“You’re dead, Shae. Because of me. Waverly didn’t deserve that. Ever. Now leave me alone.”

Nicole pushed past her but she, ever persistent, stepped in front once again. Nicole halted with a breath.

“Leave you alone so you can rush off to _her_?” she, Shae, asked.

“What’s the problem? Jesus, you’re not even here and we’re still fightin’.”

“ _You’re_ the problem, Nicole.”

“How’s that?”

Shae gestured to herself, real form long dead somewhere else, whether it was the hospital she was surely bitten in or wherever else her disease-ridden brain took her. Nicole rolled her eyes and pushed past her again.

“Give me a fuckin’ break,” she muttered. Again Shae halted her tracks.

“You like her. Look, you even did your hair; that French braid you used to do on the force! You even bothered to mask that ridiculous accent of yours yesterday. And you smiled and laughed like nothing was wrong.”

“You can’t possibly be jealous. I caught you starin’ all the time, while _we_ were together. So what if I like her?”

Shae grabbed Nicole by the collar of her shirt as she started off again.

“You’re going to get her killed,” she said. “Her and her sister and those poor boys. Let them be.” Nicole only stared back at her. “You know I’m right.”

Nicole sighed. Shea _was_ right. She’d gotten her wife and her brother killed, and whole handful of Lou’s men killed—just yesterday!

“I’m still leavin’.” She pushed Shae’s gripping fingers up and away. “I _am_ sick of this place and those idiots.”

“That’s suicide!” Shae yelled from where she stood, watching Nicole continue on her path. “They’ll keep you safe. You need them. Nicole, turn around, now!”

With a breath she did, rushing back to the woman behind her who was beginning to make her hot with fury. She tired of this lousy conversation. It wasn’t the first of its kind. Different variation, same point: _Nicole, you’re a jerk. Nicole, you don’t deserve anything good because you’re a bad person who gets her loved ones killed._ Not the best confidence booster, either.

“The Earps could keep me safe,” Nicole snarled, leaning close to ensure she wasn’t misheard. “But _those_ morons summon Infected like fuckin’ sorcerers with all the yellin’ and shootin’ they do, not to mention the stupid, full-blown _war_ going on in this god damn town. They cleared the Runners, sure, but for how long? How long before more show up? Because you _know_ there’s always, _always_ more! I need to leave, Shae, so I don’t end up like you or fuckin’ Michael!”

Shae was quiet. She stared back into Nicole’s narrowed eyes with a silent rage of her own, searching somewhere for the right words to say.

“Are we done?” Nicole asked, finally. Shae shook her head, leaning closer to Nicole, to ensure she wasn’t misheard.

“You getting infected would be _justice._ But I guess law isn’t your strong suit, seeing as you left a whole town to die, a town you swore to protect! Just like me and _fucking Michael!_ ”

Nicole lost herself and lunged at Shae in a hot fury as red as her own, fiery locks. But, seeing as the woman wasn’t really here, she dove for nothing in a harsh tackle and fell over herself, falling even harsher into the pavement. Here she was, on the outskirts of town, yelling at nothing like a crazy person.

“Figures you’d leave now,” she muttered into the lively grass seeping through the cold concrete under her.

She pushed herself onto her back, staring up at the distant stars. She wondered if they were really as bright and beautiful and peaceful as they looked. Were they rich with life? Or all dead and buried, having died in a terrible explosion lifetimes ago?

Would she follow Waverly Earp, or would she go at it alone?

Both were uncertain. Both horrified Nicole to her core. Waverly was bright and beautiful. But when would she explode in a nova of her own?

-

Gunshots forced Nicole back onto her feet. Now, of all times, she especially didn’t want to deal with the consequences. Just because dead Runners were scattered across the ground didn’t mean more couldn’t appear from thin air.

She didn’t know where she was headed. She simply walked. Maybe everything would work itself out. For once.

A fire caught her attention. She wasn’t about to run off and join whoever it belonged to, but she stopped to investigate. It went against every one of her instincts, but still she walked and walked, an unexplainable force pulling her, until finally she saw that cabin again. From the man standing in the middle of the small crowd gathering around, donning a long fur coat, she could tell Bobo’s men claimed the area. Did that mean they overpowered her old group? Or did they get away? What happened to the cabin after she and Waverly left?

Why did she care?

And why was she _inching closer?_

“Shit,” she breathed.

There was Lou himself, dead in the grass. It was known he enjoyed going out at night, but why was he here? Did he come to check it out? Take it back, even? No one mentioned what happened here after the attack. Then again she wasn’t exactly focused on the conversation.

A larger man was shooing a girl away as she rudely poked at Lou’s corpse, as if checking to see if he were really, truly dead. “Ease off. He’s dead. Leave him be, Willa.”

Willa?

Willa _Earp?_ Waverly’s _dead sister?_

Nicole slapped her own face. Was she still dreaming?

“Earp!”

Nicole snapped to attention.

Shit.

“Don’t call me Earp, Stevie.”

Nicole squinted. It was Stevie alright. That two-timing ass.

“I risked my ass plenty for Bobo,” he shot back. “And you. I’ll call you what I like.”

“He _did_ hand us Lou,” Bobo himself chimed. Willa looked ready to grill him next. “What’d you tell him, huh? Found his dead wife here?”

“If he didn’t see you kill her I’d’ve used it,” Stevie growled. “Would’ve been much easier, I reckon.”

Bobo twirled around, raising a bottle to his associates. “We owe Stevie here a toast in his honor. Others’re clearing out Lou’s place as we speak.” He smiled proudly. “They didn’t see it coming.”

“Jesus,” Nicole whispered from the tree she used as cover. “Looks like I left just in time.”

Bobo suddenly snatched Willa’s bottle. “Not you,” he warned, downing the thing for himself before throwing it aside, his eyes never leaving contact with Willa’s. “You’ve been bad.”

“Maybe I need alcohol to behave,” she returned.

“I heard you shot at my Waverly.”

Nicole grasped her chest, throbbing a tolerable pain. She felt the ghost of that shot. She was warned in the academy it’d feel real. Willa was the shooter?

“Relax,” Willa returned, grabbing at Bobo’s drink, “I shot some ginger butch instead. Who cares?”

” _I_ care,” Nicole mumbled. “And I’m not a butch.” As if Willa could hear her.

“I told you to leave Waverly alone,” Bobo scolded. “You don’t have to protect her or watch after her, but that doesn’t mean shoot at her.”

“She doesn’t appreciate you, Robert.” Willa ran her fingers across his chest, under his unzipped coat. “Not the way I do.”

“Gross,” Nicole mumbled again. What was Bobo’s interest in Waverly? This felt like a “lost cargo” type situation.

“No one appreciates me the way you do. Why don’t—”

“Bobo, sir,” someone interrupted, sprinting in from elsewhere, breaths short and face red, “we found them.”

“Were there two?” Bobo clarified, as if this man was new. “There’s the older mouthy one and the younger sweet one. Old one has a long-barreled six-shooter, young one has a black shotgun.”

“Yes, sir. Others are gettin’ ‘em now. They have friends but they shouldn’t be a problem.”

Bobo smiled something evil, then motioned for the small gathering to disperse. “Meet back at camp. Guns on safety. Don’t shoot the young one. You know the drill.”

“Fuck.” Nicole, in a growing panic, tried not to shout.

Waverly and Wynonna were in danger. Bobo was on their heels and they didn’t even know it. What if it was already too late?

In her mind, Nicole retraced the path she and Waverly took from the cabin. She looked to about where they talked, then to where they took cover with Double Agent Stevie, then where they rested after Willa shot her.

Then, with a determined breath, she ran.


	6. A Severed Earp, Part Two: She Did What?

All those mornings of getting up hours before work to jog around the neighborhood, something Shae never loved, paid off in countless ways. Before the Outbreak, as a rookie officer, it saved Nicole’s life from bold perps with enough adrenaline to run for it, usually armed. She was certainly thankful for all the times her trained endurance helped her get away from Infected or human hunters. But, of all the times she needed to book it, today’s run really took the cake. Though she wished she’d been running to Waverly to join up, not stop Bobo’s men from nabbing her—that’s _if_ they hadn’t gotten to her and the other three already.

Sneaking past Bobo’s crew was easy, thanks to the rich crop of trees surrounding them. She easily located where she and Waverly had a drink and a talk, because their abandoned bottles remained unmoved. That picnic table was still overturned, and familiar-looking used shotgun shells led her to where they ran off. Then where Shae almost made Nicole blow Waverly’s head off. Or rather Shae’s ghost. “Ghost” made Nicole feel a little less crazy. Better than her own guilt and grief drawing up scenarios. Then where Nicole was actually shot, by Willa Earp of all people. She wondered, as she followed where they’d detoured, if this was worth telling Waverly. How would, “Hey, your dead-but-not-dead sister shot me trying to shoot you!” sound?

Finally, she passed by Dolls’s campsite and past where she and Waverly bid their final farewells. Suddenly Nicole craved coffee. She didn’t stop, chest heaving and sneakers built for this sort of thing clawing in and outward from the muddy and grassy forest floor, remembering where she saw the group heading. Hopefully they didn’t turn too far from their original path, because from here on out was uncharted territory. The total darkness wasn’t any help, either. Maybe it was about time they tried daytime travel. Right now was the big gamble: find the four in time or be beaten to it by their pursuers.

A breathy, joyous laugh shook her pace as she closed in on the group, a small swarm of their own flashlights revealing them as if indicated by a spotlight on a stage. She saw Jeremy’s head buried in that map. Wynonna telling some story and shoving Dolls about to get him to follow along, no matter how much the grumpy man didn’t care to. A black shotgun, new boots, and brown locks, off in the corner, even trailing behind the group, head bowed slightly.  _Just had to say no, Haught._

One problem: the six men cleverly tailing the innocent four from the shadows, the only thing standing between her and Waverly. 

She pushed on as those boys approached closer and closer, bulky arms ready to remove consciousness from their targets. Even on her trained, long legs Nicole feared she wasn’t quick enough. So she threw caution to the wind and shot her now drawn pistol, skillfully tagging the one closest to Waverly.

Both groups screeched to a halt. Jeremy even fumbled with the map he nearly dropped as everyone turned to find the source of the gunshot. Waverly instantly glowed at the sight of Nicole.

“AMBUSH!” Nicole warned, still sprinting.

Guns were pulled, swears flew from lips, and Bobo’s not-quick-enough men darted around. Dolls and Wynonna took down one each as the men reached for their tucked-away weapons. Waverly scrambled to get her shotgun from her shoulder to hands but still blasted one away. Jeremy missed despite the three bullets he let off from his sawed-off shotgun, but luckily Nicole was still firing and hit the remaining two in the back. They were injured enough for Dolls to grab them both by their necks and slam their heads together, instead knocking _them_ out.

In the meanwhile Nicole finally caught up with them, at last able to stop running. Waverly happily hugged her, unable to resist the urge, Wynonna remarking, “Haught damn, you have great timing.”

“I thought you weren’t coming with us,” Waverly said, breaking from their embrace, eyes meeting as they were meant to.

Nicole was panting too much to answer, her throat burning. Imagine if she was out of shape. Jeremy kindly handed her a new bottled water, which she drank in full practically in one gulp. Wynonna said something about Nicole potentially being a great drinking buddy.

“I was in the woods . . . near that cabin . . .” Nicole explained, face as red as her hair, breaths still short. Waverly moved to help her sit on the ground. “I saw Bobo. I heard  . . . gunshots while I left town. He managed . . . to kill Lou . . . and the rest of the boys.”

“Are you okay?” Waverly panicked, inspecting her for wounds.

“I’m good. Except I just ran . . . a lot.”

“I hear you,” Wynonna chimed. “All this walking shit’s really killin’ me.”

“Good for the heart, though!” Jeremy added. Wynonna shot him a look that killed his smile.

“Where’s Bobo now?” Dolls asked. “Can we leave through town while he’s distracted?”

“Our friend here isn’t fond of the woods,” Wynonna said, shoving Dolls’s shoulder. “Silver Dreads, or whatever. Lucky him, I’m here to ease the pain.” Dolls sighed, unmoved.

“It’d be faster to leave through town by about a—”

“Just say I’m right,” Wynonna stopped. Again, Dolls didn’t react. She smirked.

Nicole shook her head, explaining, with more air in her lungs, “His setup’s still occupied and guarded.”

“Did he send those six?” Dolls asked again, indicating the fallen behind them.

“He did,” Nicole confirmed. “There’s something else. But you have to trust me. Really trust me.”

“Don’t tell me,” Wynonna said again. “Brain-eating zombies? Mushroom-faced, blind weirdos who spend all their time yelling? Flail their arms all stupid when they get mad?”

“I saw Willa. She’s working with Bobo.”

Wynonna fell dead serious. “That’s not fucking funny, Haught. Willa’s dead. I saw her get taken by Runners!”

“Why would I lie?”

“I don’t know!” The subject of her dead sister was sensitive. No way she’d take this information easy. To her, this was slander against Willa’s name. No way she was a damn traitor. “Maybe you’re in it with Bobo. Lou, even. Some big comeback or something.”

“Wynonna.” Waverly’s eyes were pleading. Wynonna huffed and rolled her eyes.

“Tell me everything, now,” she tried again.

-

Now the group was backtracking into town, the very one they hoped to quit forever. At Nicole’s story Wynonna stormed off, muttering something about how Willa was faking it all as an elaborate plan to overthrow Bobo. She also believed the armed men they put down were in on it, too.

Dolls—against his character, according to Jeremy—chased after her. She proved to be truly healed up now, running off for her older sister without fault. After a few long beats the remaining three joined in, worried how Dolls hadn’t returned. Waverly, ever so caring, asked Nicole of her chest wound. It ached as Nicole silently and quickly contemplated if she should tell Waverly who the shooter was. But she only rubbed at it and said her legs hurt more from all the running.

“But it’s a good thing you know this place so well,” Nicole added. “We’ll get into town quick.”

Waverly’s eyes widened. “Uh, actually, there’s something you should kn—”

“You lied about knowing the area well?”

Waverly took a breath, shocked. “How’d you—”

“It was super obvious. I’m sorry, but you’re a bad liar. No, don’t apologize. It’s fine. Brave, even.”

Waverly smiled, remembering how Wynonna told her how dumb this plot was just thirty minutes ago.

-

The moment they hit the outskirts of town guns popped from nowhere and right in their faces. Then the five were reunited, guns pointed at their backs and Bobo Del Rey unarmed before them. Their foes even relieved Dolls and Nicole of their bulletproof vests (though a small part of Nicole was actually relieved at the thought of being on even ground with Waverly, who didn’t have such protection). Wynonna already tried reaching for her discarded gun on the ground but Dolls stopped her. The two argued silently until their missing members joined them, the sight of a gun pointed to Waverly’s back instantly shutting Wynonna up. It was now hitting her what kind of mistake this was. Not the Earp sisters’ finest week.

The sight of Willa Earp jolted her from her thoughts, disgusted when she saw her own sister grab Bobo Del Rey’s hands. Lovingly, even.

“Oh, what the fuck,” she mumbled.

“How nice of you to join us,” Bobo smirked. He sat with one leg draped over the other, fingers pressed against one another, and leaned back in an old office chair—closest thing to a throne. He motioned his men away after getting a good look at the group. A couple placed the five’s confiscated weapons at Bobo’s feet before leaving the small, tense room. Curiously, the two vests were missing.

“I saw Runners get you.” Wynonna searched for reason in her sister. She was her _sister_ , after all. Willa wasn’t so kind.

“Good thing you didn’t shoot me like Daddy,” she bit.

“I’m sorry.” Wynonna voice was almost a whisper. Willa may have hated Ward, but the day Wynonna put him down was the day she lost a good chunk of Willa’s respect. It was almost as if she _wanted_ Ward to turn, to suffer with a virus spreading nonstop through his brain.

“That why _you_ tried to shoot Waverly yesterday? Some sick revenge?” Nicole couldn’t help it. Willa took a moment to examine her, recognizing her after a long minute.

“You’re looking well,” she retorted, her tone cold and teasing.

“What?” Waverly asked in disbelief. Bobo rubbed at his temples.

“What can I say,” Willa bragged, “I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

“Ladies,” Bobo tried, “Let’s not—”

“What the fuck, Willa?” Wynonna ignored, nearly yelling. “What would possibly possess you to do that? That’s our sister, you f—”

“Why’re we here?” Waverly beat Dolls to the question. She almost didn’t want to hear Willa’s answer, knowing how many times the eldest Earp actually tried to get rid of her growing up.

Bobo sat up. “That’s why she’s my favorite; right to the point.” Willa shot him a look, cold as her voice. And, sometimes, her heart. “Joking, baby.”

Wynonna shook her head. “Gross.”

“Simply,” Bobo explained, inspecting his dirty fingernails, “you belong here. The extra three can fit in or end up somewhere else.” He chuckled. “Or _something_ else.” Tomorrow’s main course at dinner, he meant. Fornthose who developed a taste. He stood suddenly, in a way that made some jump, his voice a snarl no different from a wolf’s. “If that means I have to tie you two down, I’ll gladly fucking do it. You are not going out there. You don’t _know_ what’s out there.”

“Thanks, chief,” Wynonna returned sharply, “but we’re well past babysitting days. So we’ll be off. The boys and the ginger, too.”

Bobo leaned closer to Wynonna, where he’d been inching while she spoke. “If you think—”

His eyes darted to the cracked widow behind her, a rattling explosion turning everyone’s attention. Bobo threw Willa a look, telling her to stay put in an unspoken language before giving Wynonna one last, threatening glare and making his way outside.

“Those boys of Lou’s are persistent,” he mumbled. “I admire their determination. Doesn’t mean I’ll stand for it, though.” He kicked the door to the small room shut and made to deal with whatever the last of his rivals had to offer, ready to end this silly turf war and reclaim the territory for himself.

The six he left behind were trapped in an awkward silence. Neither Wynonna nor Waverly bothered reasoning with their fallen sister, agreeing she was too far gone. It was easier for Waverly to accept, where Wynonna just hoped whatever her reason, it was worth it. Tried not to be too mad. Willa considered them a moment, maybe to try to put an understandable purpose in her intentions, but decided against it. Another moment passed and she trailed to that cracked window, trying to match Bobo’s threatening glare to Wynonna.

Everyone thought for sure Wynonna would jump at the chance for escape. Dolls was ready to stop her. There was no telling if Willa had a weapon tucked away or not. Wynonna only paced in a small line, ocean blue eyes fixed on her sister’s unwatched back.

She was formulating a plan.

Suddenly she lunged forward, swiftly grabbing for the back of Willa’s skull and slamming the side of her head against the window frame. Anyone nearby outside was too busy dealing with the last stand of Lou’s leaderless men.

Without a word the group grabbed their packs and weapons, vests now under the ownership of two unauthorized thieves, and left through the room’s only door. Not a single soul was guarding the gate, the only exit out of town and onto a highway.

But just because the usual guards weren’t present and at attention at the barbed fence didn’t mean no one was watching.

Suddenly a handful of bullets zoomed in their direction. Bobo. He was never one to wield a gun, not just as soft spoken Robert Svane, so the time came to pick up the pace. When Bobo Del Rey has a weapon, you run. No arguments. You argue, you’re already dead. Wynonna ushered her sister, then Nicole, then Jeremy out through the small opening to the other side, pulling a break in the fence apart with a leg and an arm. Dolls covered her and motioned for her to go on through, but of course she refused. No time to argue. Dolls pushed through the small hole half his size, kindly holding it open for Wynonna to cross through next. But her attention was fixed on Bobo.

She knew that wasn’t Willa. Not _her_ Willa Earp. That was someone Bobo corrupted, surely. That wasn’t the girl she grew up with, fought with, laughed with, shared the bad times and the good times. She wasn’t right, and it was Bobo’s fault.

It had to be.

She managed one carefully aimed shot before Dolls yanked her by the arm through that gate, finally ready to leave this place. She followed the traveling bullet with an unbreakable, unforgiving stare, and swore as it just barely grazed her target’s temple.

She fucking missed.

-

Wynonna didn’t say a word. She only checked in with her sister briefly and apologizing for the trouble she made as they scurried off, using the underside of the somewhat distant highway bridge as shelter from any stray bullets. After this, not a word. Not as they stopped to take a breath. Not as they ran further along, to ensure they weren’t followed. Not even while the group searched a small convenience store attached to an abandoned gas station with ridiculous prices no one had to worry about anymore. Most notably, she didn’t say a word at dinner, a time she usually spent playfully harassing Dolls, saying something about how he was uptight even in the way he chewed food.

Her four allies agreed silently it was best to give her space, especially since she wouldn’t let even Waverly near her. This was a simple feat, until Dolls handed Waverly and Nicole his extra tent and nodded off for the night, Jeremy with him. Usually Wynonna put the thing up herself, for herself, and Nicole was distracted with the small haul she managed from that store. Silently and stubbornly Waverly struggled with the thing, never bothering as a teen to join Ward and her sisters in their camping trips, because the idea of being in the middle of nowhere with her bully of a sister and bully of a father just wasn’t appealing enough. She didn’t notice Nicole laughing to herself behind her, enjoying the sight until finally taking the contraption from Waverly’s hands.

“It’s already dead,” she laughed, “stop strangling it.”

Waverly reluctantly surrendered the foreign device over. “It seemed a lot easier.”

“It is, once you stop wringing its neck.” Nicole masterfully began to pitch the temporary shelter, practically throwing the whole thing together without effort. She suddenly paused, throwing Waverly a concerned look. “You sure it’s okay I’m here? It won’t be a problem?”

“What, would you just start walking off in the middle of the night? You and your accent are always welcome.”

Nicole sighed at the thought of her silly southern drawl, suddenly happily she started hiding it again. She didn’t notice she was doing it, it just sort of _happened,_ but she had no mind to change back; it was worth the effort now.

“I hate that accent,” she mumbled, returning to work.

“I think it’s nice. For a city slicker.”

Nicole stopped again, the tent’s front hanging backwards in its half-completion. “Alright, country girl, you put up the tent. Go ahead.”

“Okay, okay, I take it back,” Waverly surrendered. After a brief pause Nicole became serious again.

“Wynonna’ll be okay, right?” she asked. Waverly looked over to her sister, still sitting alone near the freshly ransacked gas station.

“Give her whiskey and she’ll be fine.” She looked to the pebbles and stones resting under and around her boots a moment. “She’ll be fine. No one’s tougher than Wynonna Earp.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now all the completed chapters are finally up! Chapter seven is mostly done (and pretty long) but still has a few quirks to be worked out. Should be up soon!  
>  
> 
> Also, if I may add, for some reason I could NOT type Bobo's name properly. Meaning there were plenty of typos that said "Bob" or "Boob", which are both just dandy so if I missed any... that's why you may find random "Bobs" or "Boobs". (So editing this chapter was hard, because I was too busy laughing instead of actually focusing.)


	7. Watch Your Step! (And Your Mouth), Part One: One Bad Reunion and a Deal to Match

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I intended for this next arc to be together in one chapter, then I saw it clocked in at about ten thousand words. So I thought maybe I should split the bitch up a little. So once again everything's ready at once and spam-posting will commence accordingly.
> 
> In this arc we'll start to touch up on the grayer areas of survival...

It was Wynonna’s decision to move on from Bobo and the late Lou’s territory and never look back. She declared Willa and Bobo were no longer their concern. Her silent rule: no thinking or speaking about it. Not of how her actions caused a rifle to be pointed at her baby sister’s back, how close they were to being forced to stay, how lucky they were to get away with only a few scrapes. Certainly not anything having to do with Willa Earp. As far as Wynonna was concerned, Willa Earp was taken by a pack of Runners.

Dolls and Wynonna always went hunting together. It was their thing. Nicole felt guilty not joining them to pitch in, not wanting to be the awkward third wheel who ruined the fun. But overhearing Wynonna say she felt more comfortable knowing Nicole was watching over Waverly certainly made her feel better.

But today Wynonna was silent again, all throughout the growing morning routine of long hunts that either spared a king’s ransom or a peasant’s scrap. Dolls had only known her for a few days now, but he found comfort in their time together, even if it was to kill innocent, unsuspecting animals. Not that he didn’t enjoy the previous accompaniment of Jeremy, but he liked having a partner who could make shots on target all the time and didn’t explain the dangers and harshness of the meat-eating industry. And frankly, he enjoyed the way she poked fun at him, especially while they were still in the woods. Her unrelenting teasing actually eased his intense fear of the place. Really, it gave him something to focus on.

“Awfully quiet this morning,” he remarked finally as they approached their camp from empty roadside wilderness, bunnies slung over their shoulders. It wouldn’t be a meal he’d enjoy morally, but food was food. “I almost miss being harassed.”

“Sorry,” she muttered, still distant. “I guess I’m a little out of it.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay not to be okay.”

Wynonna flashed an appreciative smile, one that lifted a portion of Dolls’s concern. “Take my mind off it? If the world was still the same what would good ol’ sarge be up to?”

Dolls matched her grin. “Xavier,” he offered.

Wynonna considered him. “Nah, I like ‘sarge’ better.”

“Whatever works, Earp.” They stopped in unison by the ash left from last night’s campfire, where a makeshift cutting board was waiting. They dropped their catch and Dolls rubbed at his head with his elbow, not wanting to relieve an itch with blood-stained fingers. “Today’s what, Friday?”

Wynonna shrugged. “Didn’t keep track when it mattered, don’t keep track now.”

Dolls nodded. Made sense. What _was_ the point in keeping track now? “Well, on Fridays I’d go over to Jeremy’s and try to keep up with his video games. Those things were easy when I was growing up. Now they’re basically movies and impossible to play if your only experience is Pac-Man.” He suddenly perked up, against his usual, unbreakable seriousness. Relaxing was easier now that they left the woods, he guessed. “But the graphics! I wonder what they’d look like now.”

Wynonna cocked her head curiously, rather than kneeling down with Dolls to start cleaning their breakfast. “Wait, how long have you known Bill Nye’s lovechild?”

“I moved around a lot in the army and eventually settled in a small military town. Jeremy grew up there. I’m about ten years older than him.”

She finally joined him, grabbing a knife and getting to work. “Oh, so you two were close? _Are_ close, I mean?”

“I was always fond of him but we never got close until his car accident. His mother didn’t survive and he needed plastic implants. He was eleven. I guess I felt for him since I’ve never really had real parents myself.”

“I hear that,” Wynonna mumbled.

“When we left the Fireflies I took mostly painkillers in case anything acted up,” Dolls went on.

“And here I was thinking you were an addict.”

Dolls flashed a smile. “His father was my superior officer. I was less fond of him. When the Outbreak hit, he took the opportunity to go on a power trip over the people we were supposed to be protecting. He stole rations, shot innocents he claimed were guilty of whatever made up crime, that sort of thing.”

“Real stand up guy.”

“Mmm hmm. I killed him myself when the people finally revolted. Some Fireflies were in custody so I freed them, grabbed Jeremy, and joined. I still wanted to help, just not with the military.”

“Does Jeremy know or is old man talk off the list?”

“I told him but he didn’t seem to care. Makes sense, considering his father disowned him. God, I was happy to pull the trigger.”

“What asshole disowns their own kid?”

“Jeremy came out to him as gay when he was fifteen. He was still allowed in the house but the day he turned eighteen he was kicked out. Not as bad as it could’ve been, but that doesn’t make it right. He should’ve been proud of Jeremy for finding himself so young. Most people never have the courage to explore themselves.”

“So Jeremy’s like a son to you?”

“I’d say more like a brother.”

The duo glanced over to their teammates, sitting further off and playing poker. Nicole and Waverly swore in unison, slamming down their weaker hands as Jeremy took yet another round. The sight shook the clouds from Wynonna’s mind.

“I’m happy everyone’s getting along,” she admitted. “This would suck if we were at each other’s throats. Like when we were with Willa. And our damn dad. And Bobo.”

“Is what Willa said true? You shot your father?” Wynonna sighed, setting aside her knife. Dolls froze. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer. I didn’t—”

“No, no, I listened to your tragic backstory. It’s only fair.” She sighed again, this time picking the knife back up and cutting into the next small animal’s chest, already done with a first. “Ward Earp wasn’t a saint. Ever. But I guess I’m one to talk; I wasn’t so great myself. Hell, I’m not great now! Before the Outbreak I was a travelling delinquent. I didn’t know where I was going in life so I sort of drifted around Europe. Suckered people out of money to get by.” She paused, pointing her knife outward, as if indicating something. “But I traveled. That’s something most people can’t say they’ve done.”

Dolls silently agreed. He always wished he traveled to see the sights, not to crush some poor town for the sake of American whatever. Turns out now it was all pointless, anyway.

Wynonna went on, “Now, dear old daddy wasn’t the great man or sheriff he thought he was. He was an abusive asshole. He drove Mama away. He always made Willa’s decisions for her and never asked what she wanted. Forced her into being a cop, like him. Something about how the sheriffs in Purgatory should only be Earps, for some bullshit reason. I guess we needed to run the town?” She rolled her eyes at her father’s apparent greed for power. “I was never great in school and he made sure that was known, yet he dutifully ignored Waverly’s perfect grades and Waverly as a whole. God, I _hated_ how he treated her. Fuck, I hated _him_!”

“Sounds like you had reason to.”

“I had a feeling while I was out. Something kept telling me to go home. It was Waverly’s birthday, so I figured why not? I missed her eighteenth and I always promised to get her blackout drunk. Like a good sister should. Better late than never, right? I stayed much longer than I intended, ‘til the end of the month. Some asshole somehow got out of the city while infected. I don’t think he knew, somehow. Or didn’t believe it. You know, one of those conspiracy loons who thought the Cordyceps was fake. Or maybe he was just _that much_ of a dick. Who knows? He took the bar owner, who was really my only god damn friend in town, then he took my uncle and my aunt. Waverly was way too close to them so I full-on pulled her over the bar. I grabbed Willa, ol’ Bobo grabbed our idiot father, too drunk to shoot the asshole spreading the damn disease, and we ran. Our house was in the middle of nowhere but that didn’t mean we were safe. We didn’t have endless supplies. Because, you know, nothing’s ever fucking easy.”

Dolls nodded in agreement.

“I mean, we needed to go to the grocery store before, so we were screwed from day one. Couple days later good ol’ Sheriff Earp comes stumbling back from town, sporting bites. We weren’t letting him in, obviously, so he made some noise, and Infected, as you know, are every-fucking-where. I didn’t hesitate. I opened that door and shot him down, took his gun like some sort of prize.” She indicated said prize, strapped to her waist in a black holster that blended with her dark jeans. “I couldn’t let him stand there and attract more of those things. Not with Waverly inside.”

“Jesus,” Dolls muttered, looking into his partner’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, Wynonna.”

“Sometimes people deserve it. I mean, he’s lucky he didn’t turn, right?”

Dolls nodded, because, truly, nothing was worse than turning. Other than getting bitten in the first place.

She continued, “One thing I do feel pretty bad about is leaving behind Champ. Waverly’s old fuck-thing. He wasn’t the smartest person or the most generous, but I still left him. I mean, Waverly doesn’t seem to think much about him, either, so whatever, I guess. But maybe she was more focused on how we were doing.”

“Funny, I thought she had a thing for Nicole.”

He followed Wynonna as she looked over to the other three again, still playing poker with an overwhelming determination to beat Jeremy.

Wynonna’s lips formed a smirk. “Oh, she _does._ ”

Suddenly Nicole was slamming her hand down again, Waverly having folded the second she peeked at her own, awful cards. Nicole accused Jeremy of counting cards, the only plausible solution to his endless victories. He pulled her chips to his fat stack, innocently asking what was so wrong about performing such an act. She mumbled something about how he’s seen so many movies but never learned anything from those scenes where the main characters are kicked out of sleezy underground casinos for counting cards and emptying the house’s funds. She grabbed the deck suddenly and shuffled for herself, warning the champion to look away.

“Eyes off my fingers!” Wynonna heard. She grinned again before going about making breakfast. At last the meat was chopped up, cleaned, and ready to start cooking.

“I’m glad she didn’t have to give Haught up.” Her eyes trailed off. “Sometimes we have to sacrifice a shit-ton to protect the ones we love—and sometimes those we love _are_ the sacrifices. I can only hope those two’ll make it out okay.” She looked into Dolls’s dark eyes, focused on her and not their food. “All of us.”

“We’ll be fine,” he reassured, voice a promise.

“As long as we’ve got each other’s backs, we’ll get through this shit. Maybe even see it through to the end.” She gave a chuckle. “Then awkwardly transition back into the way things were and pretend nothing happened.”

Now Dolls’s eyes were trailing off, recalling something from his own, difficult past. “If we live long enough we all become enemies.”

Wynonna gazed at him again.  “No. Not you and me. Never.”

-

Finally, after a few days’ worth of truly brutal and excessive, blistering walking along the path of the stretching road, home only to rotting cars and rotting corpses, a small set of stores was in sight. There was little to it from what both five sets of eyes could see and the crumpled map in primarily Jeremy’s hands could show. Still, it would prove useful, holding another gas station with attached convenience store, a pharmacy, and a handful of scattered shops. The auto parts store probably wouldn’t be as useful as the others, but surely the small market and fast food restaurants could. Then again, rusty old tools could always come in handy, perhaps be the difference between living or dying.

The mere mention of fast food triggered yet another heated conversation between Dolls and Wynonna, steps ahead of the others. The two had become quite chummy lately, much to the enjoyment of the three snickering behind them. Everyone bonded in different ways; some argue about which chain’s burgers were best, while others cheat at poker.

As Wynonna and Dolls’s discussion—full-blown argument to a stranger’s eyes—about the best fries on the market escalated, another group that appeared to be leaving the small shopping center ahead passed by. A handful were injured, stumbling about in their step, and Dolls considered maybe they’d be friendly enough for him to relax a bit ( _Unclench, you brick wall_ , as Wynonna’d say). The three behind the group’s unspoken, definite leaders stopped their own conversation about fast food, too, at the sight. Good thing; Nicole’s head spun from hearing so much about the evils of corporate America’s treatment of animals. Of course she felt terrible now, but mostly she craved a good old fashioned burger _more._ But she wasn’t crazy enough to say that out loud. Waverly and Jeremy were tiny, but fierce.

Wynonna recognized three of these wide-eyed people with heads on a swivel, taking a break from their frantic movements to breathe. She couldn’t help but feel a hint of worry. There was something ahead, wasn’t there? The moment she realized who they were Wynonna moved to turn her own around. Of all the people in the world she could’ve conveniently run into from Purgatory, it had to be _them._ But, of course, they noticed her as well and, despite their normally foul nature, bothered to call her by name kindly. No terrible name-calling added. Next thing she knew they were, boldly, approaching, and she briefly considered moving into a full-on sprint.

“Oh god, you gotta help us,” a man Wynonna remembered as Skip Morgan cried. Even after all these years he donned the same jersey-jeans combo. But for once he smelled like a person and not like an odd brewery-B.O. combination. “Someone’s after us! Someone bad!”

“Sorry to hear that, Skip,” she quickly replied, shoving Skip from where he gripped her arm, “but we gotta get going. Tight schedule, you understand.”

“They killed B-Train!”

Wynonna snickered. “B-Train? What jackass—”

“Who’s after you?” Dolls pressed. Wynonna rolled her eyes at his interest, her temporary upbeat mood dead. “They’re not from _there,_ are they?”

“Sure are,” another voice answered, its owner descending from over a short hill covered in a thin blanket of snow. Wynonna knew this taller, slender man: Perry Crofte. At least he was someone she could bare to stand.

“Why’re they after you?” Dolls pressed again, and again Wynonna rolled her eyes.

“We stole food from them. A lot of food from them.” Perry almost looked ashamed. “They live over in the drug store. We didn’t want to, but we didn’t have much of a choice. We were starving and there isn’t much wildlife out here. Snuck in while they were out, but they saw us getting away. Now they’re hunting us down.” He indicated the injured few in his group, clutching at wounds with blood-stained hands and pale, fearful expressions. “We don’t exactly have the power to fight back for much longer.”

“Starving, huh?” Wynonna bit. She looked to Megan Halshford, who used to fill her locker with animal entrails every Friday. “Didn’t learn anything from daddy’s slaughterhouse?” She took a moment to enjoy the guilty look on the girl’s face before turning back to Perry. “Look, sorry about your mess and all that, but we really oughtta split. Good luck!”

“We have guns,” Perry tried. Wynonna stopped to humor him his proposal. “Ammo, too.” He breathed a laugh. “Not like there’s any game to waste rounds on.”

“Then I guess you can han—”

“How many men?” Dolls asked. Wynonna swore her head actually exploded. Was he seriously considering this? This wasn’t their problem!

“Just under ten, I think,” Perry answered honestly, hope gleaming in his eyes.

Dolls nodded, running scenarios in his head. “What kind of guns?”

“We could spare a revolver, two hunting rifles, an assault rifle, and an SMG.”

Dolls nodded again, thinking it all over. It’d be a good haul, especially after he lost most of his collection to Bobo’s thieving men. They took everything but the lousy, few handguns and Waverly’s shotgun, because they feared taking something of Waverly’s would bring Bobo down on them. Though, if they knew the five would end up escaping they probably would’ve taken everything.

“Okay. In exchange for the guns we’ll help.”

Perry’s eyes lit up. Wynonna’s nearly fell out.

“Really?” Perry confirmed, in shock. Such kindness was unheard of now. Most would probably finish of his people, take their haul, and be off. “I can’t thank you enough. I’ll gather those who can help.”

Wynonna smacked Dolls’s shoulder the second Perry left for his resting team. “What the fuck?” she demanded. “Take a hint!”

“Hey,” Waverly eased, pulling at her sister, who didn’t notice she had moved closer, probably to stop her from doing anything rash, “we’ve done worse for less. _With_ less. Maybe this’ll be good?”

Wynonna threw her arms in the air. “Maybe we should go get bitten, too!”

Waverly’s voice lowered, “I could say something to Dolls. We don’t have to do this.”

Wynonna considered her, but ultimately, “We do need those guns.”

“We can always find other guns. These people didn’t exactly treat you right. I remember. We don’t have to stick around.”

“An assault rifle and SMG are useful. Rare. W—”

“Which means finding bullets won’t be easy.”

“It could mean life or death, Wave. I’ll just ignore them or make them shut up.” She smirked wickedly, “With my wits.”

Waverly rolled her eyes with a chuckle. “Okay. But say the word and I’ll be there. Don’t play the tough guy, just this once.”

“ ‘Play’? I don’t ‘play’ tough guy. I _am_ a tough guy. Gal.” Waverly shot her a look, one that wasn’t convinced.

“You’re doing it right now.”

Wynonna groaned. “Fine, there’s literally nothing worse than this. Including the blind, groaning, real-life zombies.” Her sister gave her a sympathetic rub across the arm. “But we need every single thing we can possibly use if we’re gonna survive this shit. And I plan to make Dolls feel like crap over this all day, so can’t sit this one out.” She glanced over at Dolls, checking over his gun’s clip as they awaited Perry, still running things over with his group. “Guy makes it really hard to like him.”

“Well I’ll be here, okay? Right by your side.”

Right on cue, the cherry on a pretty terrible week, Champ Hardy appeared from the hillside, jogging over at the sight of Waverly, who forced a grin and swore under her breath. Wynonna matched her sister’s lacking enthusiasm with another groan.

“Oh look, it got worse!” she said. Why’d the universe have to take everything as a challenge?

She, alongside Nicole and Jeremy, enjoyed the sight of Waverly Earp—cheerful _Waverly Earp_ —giving an _awkward_ hug. Wynonna stifled her childish giggle when her sister ducked a kiss from Champ and instead stuck out her hand to shake.

Nicole muttered, “Cold, Earp.”

Sure enough, Jeremy added, “Ice cold.”

-

Dolls checked in with everyone before they left, specifically Wynonna. He made certain they were all cool to do this mission. All agreed sticking together was best, because they were a team, and whether they liked it or not they needed to watch each other’s backs. Whether it was Infected or hunters suddenly popping in or Dolls striking a dangerous mercenary-for-hire type job complete with pay, without consulting with anyone but Dolls. If no one agreed would he’ve planned to go at it alone? Still, each of the five knew replacing the weapons they lost would be beyond value. That is, if they survived whatever awaited them in the former shopping center, littered with angry survivors who felt violated and ready to restore what they lost.


	8. Watch Your Step! (And Your Mouth), Part Two: The World is No Better Upside-Down

Perry, Skip, Champ, and Pete York were the only able bodies, though Perry kept Pete back to protect their group in case danger found them. The men on their heels had gone from one step behind to total silence. Always suspicious. Wynonna wanted to cut their losses and break one of Champ’s legs, maybe save them from his obnoxious, loud bragging of obviously over exaggerated tales to Waverly, but she was too caught up with ripping Dolls a new one. Lucky for Nicole and Jeremy; they’d get to make fun of Champ longer. It really cut time in half.

“I thought we had a thing going here,” she was telling the old soldier. “I thought we were partners. You know, watched each other’s backs and shit?”

“Come on,” Dolls sighed, back in emotionless and impatient stone cold Soldier Mode, “you know we need this.”

“But would it’ve killed you to fucking ask me?” It was becoming difficult to keep her voice hushed and between only them. “If it affects me and my sister—especially my fucking sister—we talk about it.”

“It’s for our survival, Earp. For you and your sister. She knows what’s going on and she accepted, so what’s the problem?”

Wynonna scoffed, ready to give up. There was no point if he couldn’t see the error he made. “You make it really hard to like you, Xavier.”

With this she stormed off, closer to the front of the eight’s formation, away from Dolls and further away from Champ’s incessant yapping. She turned back to give Dolls one last glare, one that would say  _You’re a dickhead_ , but something more pressing caught her eye. She jerked fully around and whipped out the Colt Buntline Special christened “Peacemaker” from her waist. She ushered Dolls aside with a swat of the barrel to the right before pulling the worn trigger. Her target, arm already extended with pistol between fingers, mere yards from them, collapsed and slapped the ground with his lifeless spine. The lot jumped at the sound and even Champ shut his mouth to swear at Wynonna. Her experienced team froze and listened for the usual sign of always-prowling Infected, relaxing after realizing they were clear.

“Well, we know you’re not lying, Perry,” she said, holstering her long-barreled gun. She indicated the fresh corpse with a nod while her hands were busy. “He followed us. Probably your people, too.”

“They’re armed, right?” Waverly asked, concerned. “Should we turn back?”

Perry thought it over. They hadn’t heard any other gunshots. It wasn’t like they walked too far to miss that unmistakable sound echoing about the empty atmosphere, currently filled with Peacemaker’s own boom. If this person was rounding back and following this team, the others were probably deemed unnecessary to take on. Or perhaps they hadn’t been noticed.

“They’ll be alright,” he finally decided, even if he didn’t agree. It was only a matter of time before the others on their tail caught up, if they hadn’t already. “We should probably hurry.”

-

Within steps from the abandoned, lone roadside shopping center sprouting with plant life reclaiming its stolen territory, Perry warned the place was littered with traps. Many had been set off already by his ill-experienced group, but there was no telling if they’d been replaced or not. The devices were likely aimed at any wandering Infected, seeing as most were obvious and easy to avoid. Jeremy spotted a classic tripwire tied to a nail bomb. He knew the explosives were cruel, but thought them awesome nonetheless.

Waverly, the only equal to Jeremy’s wit, was finding it difficult to navigate the area, crushed by Champ’s endless stream of self-promoting stories so clearly covered in crap. It was no surprise when the boy tripped a wire near one of the restaurants—the actual _restaurant_ part blown to bits and missing—and the corresponding trap set. He said nothing of it as he kept walking on, and Waverly was suddenly pulled by a thick rope by her leg and left to dangle over what used to be the interior of a vegetarian restaurant. It was something she always wanted in Purgatory, but that didn’t mean she had a desire to be buried in one.

Nicole, who already cursed herself for not being fast enough to pull Waverly back and out of the way, immediately sprinted for the counterweight. A handmade alarm made of bottles fell from the ceiling when the trap sprung, giving away everyone’s position to their foes. Bullets zoomed by from an undeterminable location, but they didn’t slow or hesitate Nicole’s pace. Wynonna hurriedly followed to cover her, Peacemaker in hand, Jeremy reluctantly trailing behind, weaving and dodging bullets along the way. Champ stared in a sort of awe as Dolls helped Waverly stop swinging about, almost as fast as her heart pumped. He planned to stay by Waverly’s side, but had no choice but to dive behind a booth for cover as another bullet came for him next.

Wynonna used the counterweight, classically a fridge, for cover. It was close enough for her to get a good look at their approaching attackers, four men sharing the same ugly scowl. By now all guns had drawn, the exception of Champ, who only cowered behind a half-broken pillar. Nicole and Jeremy cut desperately with their dull knives, forcing their arms back and forth as quickly as possible. Wynonna soon declared the process too slow as gunfire started for her sister’s direction, the girl unarmed, dangling, swearing, and totally freaking out, and fired a couple shots into the tight circle engulfing Waverly’s left foot.

Her sister fell with an audible thud, and Nicole willingly leaped into the war zone to help Waverly to cover. As one of the men aimed for the tall, former officer, Dolls fired and tagged them right through the throat. Jeremy blasted two shots into another attacker with his new handgun, one of Dolls’s spares still in possession. He silently cheered his hit with a happy fist bump, until the cold realization he killed someone hit him like a train. The remaining two opted to quit the assault and began to run off. Wynonna happily chased after them, easily ignoring Dolls’s protests not to. They shot at her sister. Was she supposed to let them get away with that?

She learned, as they warned each other simultaneously of their pursuers, the long-haired, toothbrush-absent man on the left was Malcom. The lesser-haired, sharper-toothed—he honest to god _sharpened his teeth_ —one on the right was Red. Now she couldn’t call Nicole “Red” without thinking of this miserable encounter. Another thing the apocalypse ruined.

Red had long run out of ammo. It was probably why he ran in the first place. Malcom fired blind shots that missed seeing as they lacked aim, and Wynonna managed to shoot him through the eye as he turned to take her out.

Another, sudden nail bomb tripwire forced her to jump last minute. As she stumbled to her feet thanks to a terrible, panicked leap the Buntline slipped from her hands. Red gleefully took it as his own but found there were no bullets left to fire from the six-gun. She jumped at the chance to punch him square in the jaw, hard enough to send him rolling back and allowing her to rip the prized Peacemaker from his hands. She quickly forced a bullet from her pocket into the cylinder and fired it back out. She spared no second to breathe but made to return to check in on her sister.

Still, she managed to murmur, “Nice chompers, pal. Really helped you out here.”

As she retraced rushed steps with much calmer ones she continued to reload the entirety of Peacemaker. This was only after she relieved the fresh corpse of Malcom of his gun, which only had one bullet. She thought it could match Nicole’s firearm and tossed the rest of the weapon aside. After all, they needed _new_ guns, not the same few handguns. But if she had more time she could probably pull Red’s dumb teeth and make an awesome knife.

Dolls was in sight not too long after, chasing after Wynonna with his pistol at the ready. She stopped in her tracks at the sight of him, holstering her newly restocked weapon.

“Now he cares about my well-being,” she aimed with injury. “Choose a side, dude.”

They walked back together, Dolls throwing the dead men behind her one last glance to be _sure_ they were dead. Wynonna knew by now this wasn’t because Dolls didn’t trust her but because, with these things, it never hurt to double check.

The others perked up at the sight of them returning safely, save for Waverly, who’s hands were still more than full with Champ’s endless nonsense. He hadn’t shot a single bullet or ever left cover, but he swore he was hurt. Waverly was too polite to tell him to shut up and instead kindly assured him he was alright.

Wynonna shared no such kindness.

“Stuff it, nine seconds,” she told him, shooing off the old bull rider with a wave of her hand. He stood suddenly, huffing and walking off.

“Eight seconds. Loser.”

Wynonna glared at her sister. “He’s still a winner, isn’t he?”

Everyone took a moment to breathe, some deserving it more than others. Wynonna made sure repeatedly her younger sister was alright, asking the same questions over and over the same way Champ told his nonsense stories—only her inquiries had better reason to be spoken, certainly greater than the purpose of ego inflation. Then Perry stood to brief the temporary alliance, revealing only two men remained—that he knew of—and both were likely to be in the drug store itself, the ultimate place of interest. After this group hit it there was no way the place was left unattended; they stole a truly excessive amount of supplies.

“But the place is seriously rigged,” he finished. “We snuck in while they were out. Can’t tell you how many times someone nearly died. But on the bright side, most of the traps are probably gone now.”

Wynonna suddenly stood too, ready to end this all. “Didn’t you want help?” she asked, harshly. “Don’t try to scare us off.”

She brushed past him as sharply as her words, and he mumbled something about only wanting to give them a heads-up.

Dolls chased after her once more, once again beating out Waverly, who decided the two, in their tensing relationship, should probably be left to work it all out. Even if she’d kill to get away from Champ for just a few seconds. At least she had Nicole, who refused to leave her side, now more than ever thanks to the recent episode.

“What’s your problem?” Dolls asked. “I know you’re not exactly on board with this, b—”

“No, I’m _not_ on board with this, Dolls. We’re all risking our necks for the people who teased and bullied me in high school for being the weirdo. The odd one out. The one who had problems at home and lashed out in stupid ways. And now Waverly’s life was put on the line, dangling from the god damn fucking ceiling!” She took a moment to blink. “And I wish Champ would shut the fuck up for two fucking minutes!”

Dolls felt terrible. Not only did he ruin what they were building but he was forcing Wynonna to help out people who treated her like dirt. It _couldn’t_ have hurt to ask.

“Jesus, I’m so—”

She waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get in there, be done with this, get the stupid guns, and never look back. Sound good?”

She didn’t bother to wait for an answer.


	9. Watch Your Step! (And Your Mouth), Part Three: Two Guys, One Hole

This drug store, despite how much the locals were praising it, wasn’t any different from the surrounding buildings, wasn't anything special. It had the same, ugly, chipping white paint and bricking. It was no taller than one story with a low ceiling. The faded parking lot hugged the area immediately bordering the entrance and sides, abandoned cars quietly rotting in occupied spaces. The letters making up the sign above the recently barricaded, unwelcoming front doors were missing, only two still holding on. Essentially, the place looked like a giant shoebox.

Then came the touch of its new residents: barbed wire was thrown around windowsills and gathered from places unknown, a few busted windows which were supposed to be shining light into the inside were covered with heavy cloths to try to keep out the cold, and warning threats were painted across the bricks on the outside.

After a quick walk around the place the group saw a car lodged into the side of the building, unprotected save for a pathetically small wooden plank. Hopefully. Here, Perry reminded everyone of traps again, like it was something they’d forget (increasing Wynonna’s worry for just how dumb Perry’s group was, having to repeat basic instructions). The space was enough to squeeze through, and Dolls used the flashlight attached to his pistol to ensure no traps were waiting on the other end. Jeremy tried the same but found his gun’s light was busted. Just his luck. While everyone retrieved flashlights Dolls continued looking around. All he found in the darkness was shelves moved together, undoubtedly to section off different living spaces for each member of the store’s inhabitants. Some more tripwires were around but easy to navigate through, even for Champ, who Nicole watched closer now. Near the front more heavy cloths covered one particular section, rendering the living space in total darkness, meanwhile the rear let in as much light as uncracked and unbroken windows allowed. Skip nervously guessed for the second time the owner of the darker quarters was probably more of a night person.

Dolls and his gun’s brightest light, Wynonna, Perry, and Skip headed off to the front and darker section, and Waverly, Nicole, Jeremy, and Champ headed for the rear. In the lighter rear the four, in their careful steps around more tripwires and careful eye on clumsy Champ, spotted one space much different from the others. Mirrors were hung back-to-back and reflected the candles lit before them. Nicole warned them to sit at a distance as her cop eyes checked the place out for contact. Flashlights were turned off to reduce the chance of anyone giving away their location.

Meanwhile in the front, Wynonna’s group heard footsteps. They decided to start with the light-absent, super suspicious section. Dolls, fingers ready and resting on his pistol’s trigger, inspected, but found nothing despite really using that blaring light to his advantage. The rustling continued. One moment it was behind Skip, then Perry, then Dolls, then Wynonna. The second following, someone’s light always flashed to inspect, but found nothing. But no one was dumb enough to believe it was nothing.

Then finally Wynonna felt it, the presence of another behind her, close enough to strike her by surprise. So she whirled around, Dolls’s gun following her in a controlled panic. Together the four saw the culprit, a tall man donning a ripped up cloak as if today was Halloween. Skip pulled the trigger on his unknowingly empty gun before losing his already gone cool and running off, shrieking like a madman.

“Skip, you stupid drunken idiot!” Wynonna yelled after him.

The man Perry knew as Jim Miller, nicknamed “Killer Miller” by the idiot who currently hollered and darted off. Miller, the one who routinely attacked from the shadows of day and night like a skilled assassin, lunged at the remaining person who stole from him. Perry dodged his extended knife skillfully, until he stumbled over his own foot and Miller smacked the small pistol from his grip. Wynonna took the opportunity to shoot at the distracted attacker’s chest from Perry’s side. Unfortunately her bullet ricocheted off some sort of metal plate and instead bounced back at her, grazing the skin of her arm. She grunted, the sound breaking the scenarios of possible counter attacks in Dolls’s head. As Miller moved to strike Dolls next Perry hurled a stray brick at the back of the man’s skull, forcing his hooded head to jerk forward. Dolls jumped at the chance to grab at this shadow assassin and saved further wasted bullets by snapping his neck. Still, Wynonna fired thrice into his back for good measure. The man collapsed to the ground, and Killer Miller became a dead Miller.

Wynonna checked in with Perry and Dolls checked in with Wynonna. She prepared to say something sarcastic about how she’s been injured worse with the aid of heavy drink, but a gunshot from the other group’s direction stopped her. She confirmed plainly she was alright and they, still without Skip, ran off for the small building’s rear, weaving through the interior’s maze of shelves.

Skip, in his panicked, exposed lonesome, generated enough noise to startle the second team. Despite Nicole’s trained warnings of hanging at a distance and keeping quiet, Champ became anxious at Skip’s girlish screeching and stomping about and let off his pistol into one of this large corner’s many mirrors. Then, similar to Skip, he swore and ran off, leaving his three partners to fix his mess.

Their target, a man Perry would later reveal as former barber August Hamilton, emerged. How Perry was so informed on all these men was a mystery. Nicole once again warned against letting off random shots, not that her remaining allies were on Champ’s low level and needed such a reminder. He may not’ve seen them yet, but with those mirrors it was impossible to tell if he was across the way, behind any of the three, on the left, on the right, or just steps from someone. Even the broken tile floors were covered by the reflective surface. Where’d he get so many mirrors, anyway?

They each tried their best to stay hidden and take cover, determined to finally end this awful quest that happened to end in a cheap funhouse. But in the endless vortex of inverted universes they were completely exposed. No one left the area in fear their target would appear in the wide open space and end them. There was no telling what weapon he carried or if there was yet another elaborate trap waiting.

Waverly couldn’t focus, not with her bursting frustrations with Champ. Scared or not, he totally screwed them over. Worse, he left. She looked briefly to the crack in the building’s side where everyone had entered, where Skip finally lodged himself through and Champ followed, bouncing on his toes anxiously and shoving Skip through. Truly, they were as brave as they bragged in high school.

She jumped at a yelp and the sound and sight of Jeremy being pushed back, his exposed wrist bleeding something awful. She called to him and moved to help but suddenly another, Nicole, shoved her out of the way. She yelped just as terrible, and Waverly’s eyes widened before she jerked her arms to attention and pulled her double-barreled gun’s trigger in a flash.

She cared not for the sight of August, his excessively large mutton chops, or the way his chest caved in at the might of her shotgun’s blast. She cared for the sight of Nicole with the barber named August’s sheers driven deep inside the back of her right shoulder, bare and vulnerable without that bullet-proof vest. Her thin jacket and shirt weren’t enough resistance to hold the blade’s damage back.

Time slowed as she tossed her warm weapon aside and dove to Nicole. She checked in quickly with Jeremy, already on his feet and calling for Dolls to hurry over. Then his unharmed hand reached into his pack to get one of his and Dolls’s many medical kits. The angel he was, he immediately turned everything over to Nicole, who Waverly was easing onto the ground. By the time Nicole was relieved of her torn jacket and ruined old faded police academy shirt Dolls had arrived to help. He apologized when he took the stuck sheers out as gently as possible, red pools gushing out from underneath. Waverly didn’t leave Nicole’s side—she didn’t think she ever would with this awful sight burned into her mind—and grasped her dear friend’s hand for comfort. Nicole tried not to squeeze but couldn’t help it.

Meanwhile Perry had left in search of Skip and Champ, two people he was beginning to regret bringing along. He easily found Champ, who rushed back inside to tell everyone he was alright instead of taking a moment to notice both Wynonna and Jeremy patching each other up and Nicole writhing on the floor in pain, Waverly’s face in uncensored worry. Wynonna made sure to harshly remark, “Yeah, running off like a little girl _does_ keep you safe.”

By this point, thankfully, Dolls had finished patching up Nicole’s deep wound, stitches and all. He left a water bottle and those familiar painkillers and rushed off to look at the others. Once again, never wanting to be a burden, Nicole refused, even moving to push it all aside. But the way Waverly begged her to take them, hands and voice trembling, she complied and soon began to nod off to sleep. Waverly immediately removed her own coat and lighter jacket, carefully wrapping Nicole in the already too-big hoodie and placing the folded coat under her head as she slept. Only then did she stop to finally breathe, staring at the unpleasant sight in front of her with shaking hands she wasn’t sure she could stop. Jeremy walked over not long after, blankets in hand, and placed them over his sleeping friend before moving to comfort the other.

Elsewhere, Dolls finished wrapping up Wynonna’s arm, who sipped from the bottle of whiskey she carried around for months now, the one she also used to disinfect her injury before wrapping it herself. Or at least attempting to.

“I’m really sorry,” Dolls said, expression finally something other than the level above seriousness. Wynonna was upset at the sight; guilty and sad did not look good on him. “I only said yes because I was greedy for the guns and I thought it’d keep everyone safe. Now you’re shot, Jeremy’s wrist is bleeding, and I just pulled a knife from Nicole’s back. Then there was Waverly earlier.” He took a long, disappointed breath. “When it comes down to the ‘surviving’ aspect, even before, I don’t always make the right choice.”

Wynonna handed him the whiskey, forcing it into his grip after he refused. “It’s the only way I know how to help sad people,” she explained. He exhaled a laughed before accepting. “You had good intentions, Dolls. And everyone agreed to come along. Personally, I wish it didn’t involve backing up the people I hate most.” She took the bottle back from his outstretched hand. “And I hate _lots_ of people.”

“I’m sorry, Wynonna. They treated you horribly and I didn’t—”

“Let’s just say you’ll owe me one, okay?” The apocalypse was nigh; there was no need to hold grudges. Certainly not someone she’d be travelling hundreds of miles with.

“I feel like owing Wynonna Earp might be a dangerous business, but sure.”

She smiled wickedly, “You’ll regret that, sarge.”

Dolls snorted again before standing. “I’m gonna go look around.” He stopped her the moment she moved to join him. “You rest.”

“You can’t go alone,” she insisted.

“I’ll grab Jeremy.”

“What if he’s not feeling well?”

“Then I’ll take Perry. Whenever he comes back.”

“Oh god, make sure he’s not strung up somewhere. He’s the only chance those idiots have.”

-

Dolls re-packed the medical gear he yanked from his pack in the panicked hurry, finishing just in time to catch a roaming Jeremy and head out. Wynonna planned to chat with her sister and maybe try to make her miserable day with Champ Hardy better, but saw said sister dragging him off elsewhere. Harshly. She snickered at the sight as Waverly undoubtedly, finally, tore into him and took a seat next to Nicole, still sleeping on her stomach, wrapped in Waverly’s black hoodie and resting on Waverly’s heavy blue coat. Wynonna gave the officer a look, one of sympathy and gratefulness. She took the dull knife Nicole had tossed aside earlier, alongside her holster and gun. Wynonna prepared to sharpen it with tools she kept for her own fish knife and switchblade.

“It’s the least I can do,” she muttered.

Two aisles over, Champ was pleased. Finally, he’d get some alone time with Waverly, who pulled him aside rather quickly. The way she panicked over Nicole had him worried, but now things looked to be in his favor.

Then he looked at Waverly—really, for once, _looked_ at her—and knew he was wrong. He saw that look in her eyes and that frown, the same combo she’s wear after a long day at Shorty’s. The way she uncomfortably crossed her arms before seeing her red-painted hands and placing them out of view at her sides.

The worried glance she spared two aisles over before they rushed here, in private.

He broke the silence, “What’s—”

“I’ve been patient with you, Champ. All day.” Waverly exhaled. Champ opened his mouth to argue but she stopped him, “I listened to your crappy, overly dramatic stories—”

“That’s not—”

“— but this is the final straw. Nicole could’ve _died._ Jeremy, too. Me _,_ too. She told you to stay put and zip your damn mouth for once, and still you shot!”

“I was only trying to help. We killed him, didn’t we?”

“ _We_ did. _You_ ran off. After _you_ gave us away!”

“I’m sorry, okay?” He touched Waverly’s arm. “Let me make it up to you.”

Waverly shoved his hands off. This wasn’t seven years ago. This wasn’t another time where he did something wrong and she’d give up because she was too tired to keep arguing. This wasn’t another small thing better left forgotten than dealt with properly. This was the fight of their lives, and Nicole and Jeremy and even Waverly herself almost lost.

This was now, here, seven years later, in a different _world._ This was a life or death slip up.

This was Nicole’s life.

“Champ, we’ve been apart for seven years now,” she bit. “There _is_ no us, alright? And for once, you’re going to be responsible.” She exhaled once more, exhausted. “Just fucking once.”

“I _am_ responsible,” he retorted, becoming as frustrated as Waverly. “What do you think I’ve been doing for all these years? You’re the one who left me to die!”

“I told you to come with us. I waited outside Shorty’s for you for as long as I could. I told you to come to the homestead. When we went to town to look for food I was looking for _you!_ The only reason I stopped was because our stuff was missing. The lock wasn’t forced and all of your things were gone. I figured you made it out and I made peace with that.”

“Did you think about me at all? Like _her_? Huh? That’s _disgusting,_ Waverly. I see what’s going on. What’s she got that I don’t, huh?”

Waverly scoffed and turned to leave. “I am not in the mood for this.”

Champ grabbed her by the arm. “I see the way you look at her. _Disgusting._ You’ve never looked at me like that. What makes her so great?”

Something snapped inside Waverly, maybe the something that was growing the second Champ reached to kiss her a mere two hours ago. She suddenly yanked her arm from his grip and back into her own possession.

“Let’s start with the fact that she jumped in front of those sheers. Then earlier, when _you_ got me all strung up, she was the first to run to try to cut me down. Faster than Wynonna, even. Or how she’s always had my back, from day one.”

The thought of the one time Nicole _did_ turn on her, lost in her grief- and sleep deprivation-induced vision of Shae suddenly crossed Waverly’s mind.

But still she trusted her, handing the heated handgun over, even if it was only for a second.

And how she still apologizes for the event, even now, every time she so much as glances at her pistol.

How she probably didn’t want to join the group originally, Waverly guessed, because of this, but sought them out the second she learned they were in danger, running for much too long with a stiff bulletproof vest strapped to her bruised chest.

“I _didn’t_ think of you, Champ,” she continued. “Not once. I was too busy trying to get through day after day after day. And you know what? All those days without you, the ones I spent sleeping in the dirt and killing people I’ve never wanted to kill were still better than the years I spent with you. I got to be _me._ I got a friggin’ word in—more than once! When I talk, Champ, she looks at me. Listens. Asks questions, even. When there’s something wrong she doesn’t give a half-sympathetic answer and head straight for jumping into my pants. She _cares,_ Champ. You’re too busy caring about yourself. I’m sorry for whatever you’ve been through these years, but we’re done.”

She turned to leave. Champ was too stunned to do anything but stand and watch.

“Good luck out there,” she spared him. She meant it.

-

In the meanwhile, two aisles over, Wynonna happily told Nicole, still unconscious, of the knife fight she almost got into while travelling Monaco. She had run out of what little money she had and needed to cheat in casinos to win. Someone caught her and pulled a switchblade, but took a step back when she smashed her beer bottle in preparation. They were both kicked out before anyone could make a move. Her winnings were taken, too.

Still scraping at Nicole’s much sharper knife, she remarked, “The French are as stuck-up as the movies tell us. God, and they can’t keep it up, either, let me tell ya.” She glanced at Nicole. “Sorry, didn’t get drunk enough to sample any ladies. But I get the feeling they’re the same.”

Suddenly she became serious, motioning to lean closer to Nicole instead of against the empty shelf she used.

“Look,” she said, “I know you can’t hear me, or maybe you can in dream land or whatever, but listen up: my sister really likes you. Not that idiot Champ. But I know you know that, because you’re smart. Waverly cares about you, so I need you to stop getting fucking shot and stabbed and running into an open battlefield, to save her ass or not. She likes you, so look out for your god damn self too, not just her.” She sighed, thinking of the possibility of Waverly and Nicole actually getting together. “You know if, for once, everything actually fucking works out.”

-

Minutes passed. Waverly clearly needed space, evident by that short way she talked when Wynonna checked in. She returned to Nicole’s side and pulled a book while Wynonna searched through the store, routinely looking for useful items. Champ went outside to do the same or go for a walk or just to get away from Waverly. All reasons were fine with Wynonna, who was steps away from actually breaking his leg.

More time passed. Perry finally returned, alongside his injured group and a still-shaken Skip. Wynonna warned her old bullies to keep a distance with nothing more than a look. Perry, who never contributed cruel words or actions—or _any_ words or actions—in high school approached Wynonna, promised guns and ammo in hand. She rested her team’s much-deserved reward with Waverly before leaving to talk with Perry further.

“Sorry I took so long,” he apologized. “I guess I miscounted; two more people were after them.” He indicated his own team, with Pete now on the disabled list.

“Well, keeping up with creeps is hard, man,” she returned.

“Thank you for helping us. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to.”

“Ah, but _I_ didn’t. Dolls did. Because he’s a jackass. His words, not mine.”

“Still, it couldn’t have been easy.”

“Everyone seemed pumped up about new guns. Who am I to let ‘em down? That’s Dolls’s department.”

“Thank you anyway.”

Wynonna caught a glimpse of his people behind him, arguing whether Skip’s decision to run off was justified or not. “Perry, what _are_ you doing with them? I thought you left Purgatory? You know, because you’re smart.”

“Classic stroke of bad luck; I came back to visit family around the same time the Outbreak happened. They didn’t last long. My family was never . . . athletically built.”

“Lucky you, captain of the hockey team.”

Perry smiled. “You know we didn’t win any games.”

“Nope. Too busy rotting away in cells my dad put me in.” Perry gave a blank, panicked look. Wynonna quickly fixed, “Kidding. So what, you found these old gems and had a fun little high school reunion?”

“Yeah, you got it. And, just like high school, somehow I ended up leader.” He scoffed after a short pause. “Some leader, letting them starve.” He looked around, catching sight of Miller’s corpse, unmoved and visible in the rearranged candles. “Did we do the right thing?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we stole from these guys. We set off their traps. We came back to kill them. The whole thing feels dirty.”

“Things are a little different now, Per.” She patted his back. “It’s do or die now, and we’ll all do whatever it takes to survive, good or not. My team just mowed down six guys for guns. Seven, actually.”

“Is it worth it?”

Wynonna shrugged. “That part’s up to you.”

-

Dolls and Jeremy finally returned. As they both predicted, there wasn’t much leftover to scavenge—less than usual. Jeremy went to rest while Dolls and Perry removed August and Miller’s bodies, the smell becoming unbearable. Samantha Baker and Megan Halshford motioned Wynonna over, something she tried to ignore until she became annoyed with their undying calls for her attention. Just like high school. Only now they wanted to apologize instead of make trouble with annoying insults that were far from clever. Wynonna stopped them. She was satisfied enough knowing the only reason any of them were still alive was because of _her_ help.

“We’re square, alright?” she clarified, noting their shared, shocked expressions. What person doesn’t want their old bullies to beg for forgiveness? “Instead of crying about being terrible in the past, be a better person now. If not to others, then to yourself.” She shrugged. “I’m sure as hell trying.”


	10. Watch Your Step! (And Your Mouth), Part Four: My Heart's Still Burning For You . . .

“More of this? I just got stabbed, you know. I don’t need this crap, too!”

Nicole sat across from none other than Shae Pressman, in a place much too fancy to be real. But she’d been wrong before. The lights were turned up so bright she couldn’t tell if they were actually sitting on the sun or if she died and this was heaven. If this _was_ heaven, she’d rather be greeted by anyone who wasn’t the Shae Pressman her mind conjured up so often.

The table between them was shined to every atom and set with all sorts of foods and drink. She was sure she’d find expensive-looking paintings she didn’t understand hanging about the walls, but she found there _were_ no walls, just a weird, glowing background. Just Nicole, Shae, a table with a glossy finish, and a full buffet. She was also sure she could feel the dearly-missed warmth of a heater.

“I thought you said you liked her,” Shae spoke, swirling a spoon in her fresh tea. Watching the thing go round and round made Nicole dizzy. “You were so sure just a few days ago.” She tapped the ceramic cup with her metal spoon before setting it aside and taking a sip. “Always one to jump in without thinking, Nicole Haught.”

“You’re no stranger to that, either,” Nicole shot back. Shae gave a crisp nod.

“Touché.”

Nicole leaned back against her wooden chair, the arms shined just as the table before her. “What’s today’s lecture about?”

“I tire of our sessions, too.”

“So back off.”

Shae glanced at her from behind her raised cup. “If I could, I would.”

“What’s that mean?”

Shae set her cup down, motioning to the untouched one staring back at Nicole, who refused with a raised palm.

“You know I hate tea,” she said. Shae shrugged, again lifting her cup for another drink.

“Well Waverly likes tea, so I figured you’d be into it now.”

“She said she _misses_ tea. Doesn’t mean she’s crazy about it. I miss doing taxes; doesn’t mean I was crazy about it.”

Shae gave another thoughtful nod. “I guess that’s true.”

“So what? I’ll just watch you drink your tea—”

“I thought you said you liked her,” Shae tried again. Nicole scoffed.

“I did, and I do. That it?”

“Be patient, please.”

Nicole scoffed again, drumming fingers against the white wooden table. “I always was.”

“Six.”

“Six what?”

“She almost tripped six wires—before the real one, anyhow.” Nicole rubbed at her neck, uneasy. “Did you even notice?”

“I did.”

“And you said nothing?”

“I tried—”

“Not hard enough. You’re lucky she saw them. Well, six of them.” Nicole bowed her head, chewed her lip. “Then,” Shae added, once again setting down her cup, “you ran out in the line of fire to cut her down. There’s that.”

“Anything fo—”

“You can’t help her if you’re dead.” Shae’s tone was serious now, all teasing and all fun gone.

“I won’t change what I did, if that’s what you’re getting at. I don’t regret it.”

Shae raised her cup, refilling it first. “You know I’m right.”

 _She likes you, so look out for your god damn self, too, not just her,_ another voice echoed. Nicole searched around. It sounded like . . . Wynonna?

“How’s the shoulder?” Shae asked, teasing tone making a comeback. Nicole didn’t notice how it burned until now.

“Worth it,” she snapped back. “Don’t you dare think—”

“There’s nothing wrong with looking out for someone else. But carelessly hurting yourself while doing so? There’s a problem. Before you start—You know I’m right. Again. You didn’t even fight back. You easily could’ve taken some out, or forced them to cover by shooting. You not getting hit at such a close range was _luck,_ Nicole, and luck runs out. This brings me to the barber—Why didn’t you disarm him? Are you not a trained police officer? Top of your class?”

“I—”

“You easily could’ve taken the sheers and used it against him. Instead you’re lying on the ground with yet another scar to add to your sad collection. Was it worth it?”

Offended at the question, Nicole leaned forward. She tried not to inhale the steaming drink she left untouched. “If Waverly’s in danger I’ll get stabbed a thou—”

Shae chuckled. “You’re not listening, Nicole. Was it worth it?”

Nicole blinked, confused. “I answered y—”

“Her reaction, Nicole. Was it worth it?” Nicole became quiet, bowing her head again and slumping back. “You saw her, both times. When you ran out you saw her face. You looked.” Shae chuckled again, louder this time, almost to upset Nicole. “She was positively _terrified._ She didn’t even have her gun—she dropped it! That probably wasn’t helpful.”

“That’s not fucking funny.”

“You’ll laugh someday. Then there was the way she caught you. So sweet. She’s a sweet girl.”

Nicole clenched her jaw, long done with this talk. “I know.”

“She shot him without thinking about it. Sweet. Because she was scared? Less sweet. Then she took your hand. I think she squeezed it more than you squeezed hers. Her knuckles were _pale_. Then again, so was the rest of her.” Shae’s smile, the one that showed just how much she enjoyed this, died. “The way she begged you to take the pills to not, once again, be in pain.”

 _Nicole, please, take the fucking pills,_ Waverly’s voice echoed. Nicole became uneasy at the sound. It wasn’t something she’d ever like to hear again; the raw terror in Waverly’s voice.

Shae continued, “She even gave you her _jackets_ , plural. She’s probably freezing right now; you know she can’t stand the cold.” Shae laughed again. “You did that.”

“Do you have a point or are you making me feel like shit for fun? Not that it’d be a new—”

“You’re destructive, Nicole. That’s my point. Where you help, you make more trouble.”

“What else can I do?”

“Use your brain, for starters.” Shae leaned in close. “Because if you don’t, one of these days you’ll finally slip up, and one of you will be dead for nothing.” Shae stood, placing a black jacket over her long blue dress. “To care for someone, Nicole, you must care for yourself first.”

-

Cinnamon.

Cinnamon was the first thing Nicole recognized as reality hit, slowly at first then all at once. There was no point in going back to sleep, because when she was up she was _up._

She could still feel the watered-down aching of her shoulder, bare except for a black hoodie, one she knew belonged to Waverly because she was the one who found it two days ago and insisted Waverly keep it despite its bigger size. Her right arm still rested at her side, and her left was still outstretched above her head, where Waverly had been holding it and where, with a quick peek, she saw Waverly sat now.

She could see Waverly was buried in a book, one Nicole sure was either written in a different language or she was having another weird dream where everyone spoke some tongue she couldn’t understand. It always ended with her not graduating the police academy. Primarily, it was a stress-induced college dream.

She stole a moment to check in with her shoulder and right arm, flexing and wiggling fingers. All good. Though somehow Waverly, as deep into her book as she was, noticed and inspected Nicole to see if she was waking or just twitching in her sleep. Cute, either way. Nicole got a closer look at that book perched in careful hands over her head, now more awake. Not long after honey eyes met hazel-greens, as they always seemed to.

“Only you would be brushing up on your Latin in the apocalypse.”  Nicole got her words in first.

Waverly was quick to throw the book aside, not bothering to save her place, and grabbed Nicole’s hand. She looked exhausted.

“Hey,” she said, clearly relieved. “You okay?”

“I like you two Earp girls, and don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you’re both cursed. Or just plain bad luck.” Waverly laughed, worried voice still shaky. “But you have drugs, so I guess I’ll stick around.”

“Typically you’re supposed to confiscate the drugs, officer.”

“What do you think we do with ‘em after?”

Waverly laughed her gentle laugh again, thankfully less shaky than before. She suddenly swallowed and became serious, tracing her fingers in patterns on the back of Nicole’s hand.

“Nicole, I’m so sorry. I should’ve—”

“Don’t be sorry. _You_ didn’t stab me.”

“I might as well have. I should’ve been paying attention.”

Nicole squeezed her hand reassuringly. “That’s not on you. If anything, I should’ve been able to tell the difference between a human and a stupid reflection.” She recalled her latest session with Shae. “Not to mention there were a million better ways I could’ve stepped him. I chose the worst one.”

“I still should’ve been paying attention. With the damn tripwire, too.”

“Huh? I couldn’t hear you over Champ.”

Waverly laughed again. “God, I almost forgot how much work he was. Almost. I’m sorry he shot. I should’ve—”

“Not your fault, either.”

She rubbed at Nicole’s hand again. “I know. But still.” She was quiet a moment, even retracting her hand from Nicole’s to rub at her own neck. “I broke up with him. Formally, I mean.”

Nicole tried to raise her fist in a mock victory, but she couldn’t make it too high without it slumping back down. “Singledom is freeing,” she said. Waverly smiled weakly. “You okay?”

“I have never felt better.” Her eyes caught Nicole’s back and she grimaced. “Uh, not to brag.”

“You’re not. That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.”

Another silence. Nicole briefly pondered turning to her side or flipping onto her back, but she didn’t want to upset that wound. Or freak out Waverly.

“Wait, why’s it so quiet?” she asked instead. She couldn’t exactly move around to look for herself. Not too far, anyway.

“Everyone’s asleep. It’s technically the middle of the night.”

“How come _you_ aren’t sleeping? ‘If you fall over and take a nap we’ll leave you!' ”

“Hey, don’t use my words against me!” She ducked her head, grinning softly and sweetly. “I totally would, though.”

“Yeah, sure thing. Have fun losing to Jeremy in poker, alone.”

“He is such a cheater!”

“Speaking of, I think I had a dream about knife fighting with Wynonna? In Monaco?”

“What?” Waverly laughed. She glanced over to her sister, asleep against the same shelf, grinning evil between dreams and still holding Nicole’s newly sharpened knife. “How’d you know it was Monaco?”

“I don’t know. Casinos?”

“Could’ve been Vegas.”

“Snobby rich French guys?”

“Still probably Vegas. They did have Paris, you know.”

“Yeah, ‘the world in one city’ and all that.” Nicole huffed. “Stupid Vegas and their drive-thru chapels.”

“I still can’t believe Nicole Haught of all people got drunk Vegas married. Think-everything-over-thrice, Tactical Nicole Haught!”

“I had a troubled start to my twenties, what can I say?”

“But I guess it’s like you to try to work it out.”

“Really, I just needed a roommate. Two people on one rent is better. Way better.”

“I can’t argue with that. It’s the only reason I stayed with Champ. It beat staying at the homestead, with all its chaos. I think once I got my history degree I’d be out quick.”

“You wanted to be a historian?”

Waverly ducked her head again. “Yeah.” Nicole’s dimples popped. Of course Waverly wanted to be a historian. “Champ thought it was dumb.”

“That just means his history grades sucked. That’s awesome, though. You would’ve been great. I always wished I could keep up with the stuff. It’s definitely interesting.”

Waverly smiled. “That’s what my Uncle Curtis used to say. He paid my tuition. Aunt Gus used to hate it, spending all that money on dead languages and off-beat history. But he believed in me.”

“He sounds incredible.”

Waverly became distant. “He was.”

“Uh, so what’s that fancy read about?” Nicole asked.

She delighted in the way Waverly perked up, the speed she grabbed her book, the way she rambled on and on, doing her best to help keep Nicole on board, though she still had endless questions and was lost as all hell.

It was refreshing.

-

The team agreed, ignoring Nicole’s protests, to stay back another day for the sake of rest. The only reason Nicole didn’t stubbornly force herself off the ground and run laps around the place just to prove she was fine was because Wynonna joined in on their usual poker game. Once he watched her cheat and felt the sting of defeat with no possible comeback, Jeremy finally promised to stop counting cards.

The next day, blowing off her newly annoyingly positive and inviting peers, Wynonna spent with Dolls. He was getting awfully chummy with Perry and she didn’t want him learning of the things she did in high school, some too terrible to some too embarrassing. She did manage to learn the embarrassing nickname “B-Train” belonged to Bryce Cooper. She would’ve milked that so hard in high school.

Meanwhile Nicole was up and about, encouraged by Dolls and Jeremy, the team’s clear medical experts, to walk around. Jeremy was busy figuring out the nail bombs, now considering its usefulness despite his clear distaste for its cruelness. Waverly was nowhere to be found. Yesterday she’d been stuck in her own head. Nicole hoped it wasn’t because of Champ. Or because she might’ve said something wrong.

She ended up rummaging through this thumb-sized arrangement of stores, even if she knew she’d find nothing. Really the purpose was to waste time. While she sulked around the empty, broken building of that same vegetarian restaurant Waverly was strung up in by herself, her gaze caught sight of the discarded bullet shells and the gray counterweight. She approached it, classically a fridge, and stared at the half-cut rope still knotted together at the top, originating first in a tight circle around the square, pudgy fridge. Lou’s boys always told her to sharpen that knife and she always blew it off. Good thing Wynonna made other plans.

“There you are!”

Nicole snapped around at the sound of Waverly’s voice, a sound she wasn’t sure she could forget or ever grow tired of.

“I was looking for you,” she added, approaching Nicole.

“Sorry. Dolls _and_ Jeremy told me to walk around. They’re the experts, you know. Everyone ready to go?”

Waverly looked confused for a second. Something else was clearly on her mind. “Oh, yeah, yeah, they’re getting there. But I hoped I could steal you for a minute?”

“Sure, anything. Hey, you’re okay, right? You’ve seemed a little—”

Waverly suddenly lunged upward and pulled Nicole into a bruising kiss. As if she practiced or scanned the room beforehand in detail, she pulled both of them to an open booth, free of a table detached and splayed across the ground. Aware of Nicole’s shoulder, she pulled the redhead to rest on top of her. They shared one more, deep, passionate kiss before Nicole fell back to make sure this was actually happening.

“What happened to the freedom of being single?” she tried to play it off smoothly. Waverly suddenly sat up, and Nicole eased off her in response.

“The world is shit,” she began a somewhat practiced monologue. “It’s always been shit, even without zombies and the whole fall-of-society thing. That doesn’t mean we should settle for shit. And I almost did! I was willing to settle for someone who never took responsibility for his actions and never ever let me get a word in. And without you, I would’ve never noticed.”

Nicole smiled gently, Waverly taking glee in the surprise in her puppy-dog eyes. “Me?” she asked, in disbelief.

“Yes, you. You give me butterflies, Nicole. I’ve never had butterflies! I know you have Shae and we’ve only known each other for like, a couple weeks, but there’s-there's something here! After seeing you hurt like that and Champ being around, I couldn’t bear another moment of being just friends or teammates. Or maybe that’s just me. Maybe I’m making it all up, I don’t know. What I do know is when I think about what I want to do most in this world, it’s you.” She closed her eyes suddenly, shaking her head. “Oh god, that sounded much more romantic in my head.” She desperately wanted Nicole to answer, but she only stared back, still grinning. “Just, uh, jump in any time, Nicole, because I really, _really_ don’t know how to do this.”

Nicole reached for Waverly’s hands, who eagerly accepted. “I feel the same way.” Waverly sighed in relief, not noticing the trailing of Nicole’s eyes. “But—”

Waverly nodded. “Shae.” She tried not to sound disappointed. “I get it, Nicole. I do.”

“It’s not because I still have feelings for her,” she reassured, quickly. “It’s because of what happened to her.”

 _Because I’m destructive,_ she wanted to add.

“If anything happened to you, I’d—I want this. I really do. But I think I need time.”

Waverly’s fingers stroked the backs of Nicole’s hands. “I get it,” she said.

“I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Nicole. If you’re not ready, that’s okay.” She touched Nicole’s cheek, gentle as all hell. “I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere. Ever. Promise.”

Waverly’s theory was true: Nicole, at first, didn’t want to join the Earps because she feared she’d be bad for them. She couldn’t believe Nicole Haught, sensible think-everything-over-thrice Tactical Nicole Haught, thought this.

-

“Hey so, I’m trying this new thing where I’m nicer to people. The ones who aren’t shooting at me, that is,” Wynonna Earp was saying to Champ Hardy. “So I’ll apologize, finally, for leaving you behind. It wasn’t Waverly’s fault. I think she even tried to look for you.”

“She might’ve mentioned it,” Champ muttered.

“Look, one day you’ll find someone, who, somehow, loves you for your ugly mug and your . . . unique personality.”

“This is you being nice?”

“I said I’m trying, you id—Look, someday someone will care for you. But first you should learn to care for someone. Someone who isn’t Champ.”

She glanced at Dolls across the way, still chatting with Perry about sports. Since they met, in the short span of nearly two weeks, she told him more than she told anyone else in her life.

“Took me long enough to learn the same.” She suddenly patted Champ’s shoulder, much harder than intended, practically punching the boy. “But first you gotta stop being a prick.”

Afterwards, Wynonna and her team bid farewell to Perry before preparing to wander to the next town. She genuinely hoped he would make it through all this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *blasts Wildwood and quotes 109*  
> (Also don't beat me up, I promise they'll get together soon!)  
> After this, nothing is past outlined, so new chapters will definitely be posted Saturdays as originally intended, maybe Wednesdays if it's short. Thanks for your support these first ten chapters!


	11. In the Zone, Part One: Noise, Noise, and Runners Galore

The smooth groove Wynonna and Dolls fell into was suffering, ever since the guns deal, running into old bullies, and that drug store. Of course the two didn’t notice themselves, but their ever-observant mates did. Outside eyes sometimes brought more reason. So far it wasn’t enough to interfere with how they went about disposing of Infected or armed thugs who had more blind desperation than brains. They silently agreed it was a matter that’d resolve itself.

In the meantime Nicole had her own problems with Waverly, all of them being the girl was just too damn sweet. The more they talked the more Nicole wanted to revoke her dumb decision about taking the next step. The more she became sadder and guiltier, actually, knowing Waverly was waiting patiently for her to get her shit in order. Now that their real feelings out there Nicole wanted to pounce on every possible opportunity to make Waverly smile, make Waverly laugh, hold Waverly close, press their lips together once more . . .The worst of it was how she noticed now more than ever how handsy the Earp really was, the deeper into the conversation the more she touched. The more Nicole’s skin jumped from her bones. The more she hated how, for once, she planned to take her time with a girl—she married the last one overnight! Still she let things be, a new excuse every time.

-

The stretched road before them only grew shorter as the city before them grew larger with each crunch of dead leaves, each heel trekking through light snowfall. Echoing booms of gunfire and actual booms from explosives told the five everything they needed to know: do not enter. Having fancy new guns didn’t mean charging into the unknown was wise. The plan was to cross through the quieter sections of the city and hope there was nothing awaiting them. It was a guess, but at least it was a guess with some thought.

With each peaceful portion of this city they found more of the usual; plant life taking over streets and buildings of all sizes; the unmistakable stench of death and the uncomfortable sight of corpses scattered about and bloodied; rotting cars with open doors, crushed windows, and stained red across expensive leather and showy paint jobs; graffiti warnings against looters; various quarantine zone signs abandoned, information about the area pushing back to fight against encroaching Infected. Perhaps the ruckus echoing throughout the place belonged to this same zone, still fighting to keep Infected off their backs.

An old apartment complex looked to be a promising shortcut. Until halfway through the ruined grounds spores were spotted sprouting from the vicinity’s only clear exit. Fences were barbed as usual and roads and sidewalks were blocked off by other, weaker collapsed buildings stacked atop one another. It was probably better, smarter to turn around and take the long way around, but the explosions and gunshots were growing closer with each passing moment. So shortcut it was.

Understandably, Runners were bothered by the obnoxious sounds surrounding the district outside. For the most part the team could navigate through old apartments quietly, not a bullet spent, knife dulled, a breath caught.

Debris; some stacked desks, a broken door frame, crumbled fragments of the above floor. They were kind enough to leave space to shimmy through. Dolls and Wynonna pushed the desks apart, dust and tiny pieces of the ceiling raining down. Wynonna continued to hold the once-useful barricades away while Dolls moved through to kick the sliced wooden door out from the way, half of it lodged diagonally through the passing. Afterwards he turned back to help hold it all open and motioned the others through. Jeremy passed first, then Waverly, Nicole, Wynonna, and finally Dolls— _if_ the whole thing held long enough. Halfway through, a terrible cracking of what remained overhead sounded. Jeremy hopped through and Dolls had no choice but to pull Wynonna over as new bits of broken wooden structure threatened to crush her. She stumbled back to her feet and peeked through to find Waverly, mirroring the same action.

“Well shit, what now?” Wynonna’s voice was muffled slightly by her mask. She was no fan of the reduced visibility it brought, either, or the smell, or the way the stupid thing held so tightly to her face.

The cry of Runners and Clickers interrupted Waverly’s initial response. Instead she hurriedly proclaimed, “Go! We’ll find a way around!”

Her older sister had no choice but to go along with it and followed Jeremy and Dolls to a more secluded place, preferably one away from the thud attracting undesirables.

“Shall we?” Nicole asked, already walking off and searching.

“Nah,” Waverly returned, “I could eat. Hey, what about up there?”

Nicole followed her flashlight to a hole in the wall, above a good-sized bookshelf.

“I’ll get you up there,” she said, motioning Waverly over for a boost. “Jeez, you vegans are light,” she added as she pushed her partner to the shelf’s top. “Makes sense, only eating lettuce and potatoes and corn.”

Waverly peeked over and past the break in the wall. “Clickers,” she warned. Nicole huffed. Not what they needed right now. Or ever, really.

Then Waverly added, “When I live to be one hundred, we’ll see who’s laughing.”

“Still me, because I had fun eating burgers.”

“Cows are friends, Nicole! Wait, what’re you doing? I’ll pull you up!”

Nicole was pushing over a lighter dresser, its articles likely packed up and hauled elsewhere with other necessities the owner might’ve needed. It made no noise against the thick carpet, certainly nothing the Clickers behind Waverly heard.

“Not a chance,” she spoke as she climbed. “You vegans are made of glass.” She took joy in Waverly’s stammering to find the perfect comeback, until pressing matters had her indicating the room below. “That’s a healthy crowd.”

“Should we sneak past them?”

“No. We might need to do more lifting later. Better safe than sorry.” Nicole surveyed the area, making a list of different game plans to herself. “Okay. I’ve got this one. Wait here.”

Waverly pulled her arm to halt her. “Absolutely not!”

“Our dynamic’s all off; Jeremy’s not here. I need insurance. If something goes wrong, I need you to throw something and make a distraction so I don’t get mauled. You’re also in a nice sniping position.”

“Fine,” Waverly breathed. “Be careful. I’ll give you some extra light, too.”

Nicole winked, cocky. “I’m always careful.”

As her partner descended Waverly muttered, “You’re a textbook klutz.”

Nicole waved her light around once more after carefully easing herself onto the ground and into a low crouch. Two Clickers in the living room, one in the kitchen, none moving about. Another stood further in the hall, and a fifth paced around what was left of this apartment. With a long breath she was off for the one patrolling about. She easily seized him in his step, silently putting him down with a knife to the neck. These days she was better about keeping it sharp. She moved to the kitchen next, first placing her blade into her second target’s throat before noting the fully stocked cupboard of canned goods. Since they moved from one urban area to the next and stuck to mostly highways the wildlife populations went down, thus backup canned food supply went down.

Not moving from her quieter crouch she inched for the room’s last two residents. Waverly nervously prepped a loose piece of the broken roof, resembling a rock shape. She trusted Nicole, always, but the couple left were just too close together. In a practiced move Nicole threw her left arm tightly over her target’s torso, keeping as much space between her forearm and their mouth as possible. She swiftly dug her weapon into the exposed throat, motioning the inhuman creature to roll around on the ground until death finally brought mercy. Her eyes never left the other across from her, neither did Waverly’s. Still in business, she took less caution with this one, impaling the neck as usual and tossing the body aside.

She moved to help Waverly down from the bookshelf before disposing of the fifth Clicker in the hall. But first she shoved those cans from the kitchen into her backpack, which became restored to its usual bulkier weight.

The duo listened and searched through the fogged air for more but found they were clear. A mask may have covered a cheeky, overconfident grin, but Waverly knew for a fact it was there. It was always there.

“Let’s just keep moving, alright, super star?”

“I’m not half bad,” Nicole winked again. Waverly wanted to say something in response, but Nicole tripping over debris and nearly falling over outdid any words she could piece together.

-

Across the way, the duo’s remaining teammates didn’t share the same luck. The Runners and few Clickers who followed them were livid, searching everywhere their lower functioning brains could. The three hid somewhat securely behind a kitchen counter, but there was no telling when a Runner would stumble across them and cause a scene. They needed silenced weapons, Wynonna noted. Anything from throwing knives to a bow and arrow set would do.

Dolls and Wynonna silently made plans of attack, as they always did in these types of situations. Usually he’d take her ideas and improve them, but today he wasn’t right. He didn’t even pitch scenarios of his own.

They’d go along with Wynonna’s tag team stealth plan, though their chances of being seen were high. Dolls, uncharacteristically, took the risk without argument. Jeremy hung back, discarded bottle in one hand and black Glock with busted light in the other. Wynonna stabbed the Runner patrolling a small corner across the way. She directed Dolls, oddly, to a Clicker standing in a bedroom’s entrance. Normally she’d mentally make some quip about sending Dolls to the bedroom so quickly but instead she moved to take cover while he approached in a slow crouch. Again, against his nature, he took his target out without thorough examination of the area. Wynonna wasn’t entirely used to babysitting Xavier Dolls of all people, so she didn’t notice the error until too late. She snatched the new hunting rifle from her shoulder and jumped to her feet, blasting the snarling, groaning Runner who neared first.

More poured in from the halls. Dolls vaulted over the couch behind him to join Wynonna, briefly considering using the assault rifle. Was this the type of emergency to use it, or should he save it for something worse? Would there  _be_ something worse?

Jeremy didn’t like the looks of this. Without a second thought he ripped the front pouch of his pack open and gripped the nail bomb he made weeks ago at the drug store setup. He hurled the thing as Dolls reached for the automatic rifle on his back, and it easily shredded through the half-dozen running in. The once-great couple on the other side of the room handled the rest. Waverly and Nicole popped in next in a rush, black shotgun and second hunting rifle at attention.

Nothing else. They were clear now. Wynonna rounded the dusty, dirty old faded couch and plopped down, catching her breath and calming her thumping heart. Dolls checked his current clip and Jeremy rummaged through the kitchen.

Waverly stated to her sister, “Now I get to lecture _you_ on getting spotted!" Wynonna made to return the remark but was beaten out by Jeremy.

“I know I’m not a part of the Wynonna-Dolls power duo, but there’s something going on. Like, a bad something, not a good something. The bad something you’d fi—”

“Noted,” Wynonna replied blankly.

“That was bad!” He looked to Dolls. “We don’t make mistakes, right?”

“There’s nothing going on here, alright?” Dolls sharply retorted. He began to walk off. “Let’s get out of here before more show up.”

-

The harsh thrashings of war only grew closer, not bothering to stop for anyone or anything. The map made its way to Dolls, who quickly rerouted the team’s path yet again. Whatever was going on, it was in their best interest to stay far away. Wynonna noted the long way he pondered the map, even long after confirming the new path. The intensity he stared was almost unsettling, like he’d laser the thing to ash if he kept his focus.

“Alright,” she finally gave in, “the Boy Wonder was right.”

“What?” Dolls asked, dark eyes never leaving the crumbled paper before him. Thank god the poor thing wasn’t the unused one she had, tale of a probably-fake scam scribbled about the back.

“Something’s not right here, and we should probably take care of it before something terrible happens. More terrible than that crap back there.” In a fake cheerful tone she added, “Tell me all your troubles, bestie!”

Dolls tucked the map into his coat pocket, the thing wrinkling horribly. “I’m good, we’re good, everything’s—”

“Not good. Dolls, come on. Seriously, what’s up?”

He sighed reluctantly, giving in. No room to hide on this long trip, after all. “I screwed up. At the drug store.”

Wynonna shrugged, “So? I screw up all the time. Religiously. Who cares?” Dolls didn’t answer, only stared to the path ahead. “Doubting yourself’s only gonna make more of a mess, you know.”

“I got Nicole stabbed, Jeremy’s wrist cut open, your arm grazed, and Waverly dangling from a ceiling. Everyone but me got hurt. Can’t get worse than that.”

“No one blames you. No one cares. We got shiny new guns! Pew pew, and shit!”

“I care, Wynonna. I didn’t even talk with anyone about it. I just jumped right in.”

“Actually, you _did_ talk to e—”

“After I made the deal.”

“So? It wasn’t a blood contract; we could’ve backed out. Dolls, come on, you’re a great leader. I would’ve gotten Waverly killed going after this stupid thing a long time ago.” She sighed. “Not even sure if the damn thing’s real, but I’m betting everything on it.”

“It’s good to have something to bet on.”

She swatted his shoulder. “Hey, we’re fixing your problems, not mine. Look, from here on out, when you’re being an asshole, I’ll be _louder_ about my opinions.”

“You can be louder?”

Wynonna swatted him again, suddenly pausing to smirk, raising a brow. “I can be as loud as you’d like. But seriously, I’ll let you know when your calls are dumb. Starting with that ‘follow Wynonna’ shit back there. That’s a no-no, dude. I don’t lead. I’m only good at busting the leader’s balls.”

“Alright,” he smiled, “we’ll go back to normal. But I’m trusting you to be a steady voice of reason.”

“I don’t know about reason, but I’ll give a holler if it’s sketchy.”

“I’ll take it.”

-

“Five guys, one knife. No one even blinked! Not that they have eyes.”

Nicole blushed to herself as Waverly bragged to Jeremy about her stealth moves, as if he was a stranger to them. The conversation started with talk about the nail bomb, then to what went down between Dolls and Wynonna, briefly to seedy tastes in some of the apartments’ décor, Nicole’s earlier teasing about Waverly’s preferred eating lifestyle, and finally to how well she cleared the room.

“And she found more food while she did it!”

“Just more soup,” Nicole said, trying to play down Waverly’s excitement about a task she considered simple. “Kinda hoped I’d seen the last of soup after college.”

“Me too,” Jeremy agreed. “But _can_ you ever really get sick of soup? I mean, maybe take a little break, but—”

The unmistakable cry of a Runner stopped Jeremy, then Nicole, Waverly, Dolls, and Wynonna. A whole herd spotted them from a crumbling house and made to capture their targets. More and more gathered, springing from backyards, bordering houses, and a handful from the rear of a moving truck. Instinctively in their not-new sprinting for their lives, the lot followed Dolls’s trusted lead. Whether or not he believed in himself he needed to formulate a plan. His sights caught wind of another two-story house, half blown to bits. The staircase was missing from where it curved halfway through.

A rope was tied to the old bannister, hopefully steady after however long it'd been there. Jeremy kept close watch on the approaching army of Infected while Dolls and Nicole boosted Waverly up. She untangled the rope and tossed it down as Wynonna was lifted to join her. Dolls directed Nicole to the rope and helped Jeremy up next, hoping to cut their time in half with double the means of ascension. Nicole gave the thing a testing tug, though she didn’t entirely wait to see the results. Runners crept up as Dolls snatched the tool once it was free. They closed in enough to manage a few pulls at his feet before Wynonna and Jeremy fully pulled him up by the arms then waist, Nicole and Waverly shooting to lessen the attackers. The force caused Dolls to topple over the other two, still managing to yank the rope to rest on the wide step with them.

No one stopped to breathe or talk—even Wynonna, who’d usually say some one-liner that unintentionally lightened the mood a bit—as they climbed the rest of the stairs. On the second story’s worn, black carpet exposed to unknown amounts of unfiltered nature, Dolls and Jeremy searched for a safe exit. Wynonna checked there was no way their pursuers could reach them before inspecting the vacant rooms along the hall. Waverly intended to join her but noticed Nicole’s growing anxiety, staring into the raging crowd below with blown eyes. Curiously, she feared the basic Runners more than anything else. Waverly guessed Clickers were easier to swallow simply because their facial fungal growth helped them appear less human, maybe even something else. Nicole’s self-diagnosis was she couldn’t mistake any for Shae, wherever her ex’s body wandered now.

With Waverly occupied on catching Nicole’s attention, Wynonna searched about at her own pace. She picked up a few things along the way, such as old, used bottles of mouthwash from the bathrooms, brushes, razors, and other toiletries. The master bedroom left a sizable collection of clothes, which she took off hangars and out from drawers and dumped in the hall for the others to look into. She considered the heavier fur coat, probably much warmer than her fringe leather jacket, but ultimately turned it down. As silly as it seemed, her current jacket was important; a birthday present from Willa before she left to wander Europe.

She was thankful for a suspicious rustling from a smaller room at the end of the short hall. It kept her from thinking of Willa’s current condition and whereabouts. As badly as she wanted to forget her sister, she just couldn’t. She was family, on their side or not.

The sight of a woman in military fatigues forced her to cock her Buntline, already prepped in her hand. She didn’t aim, but keeping it primed was always a safe bet. Not to mention pushing a weapon in someone’s face was an easy way to turn a peaceful talk into a fatal encounter. Dolls and Jeremy headed over to co-investigate the thud. Dolls’s firearm remained in hand but still as primed as Wynonna’s, but once Jeremy saw the room’s inhabitant he panicked and raised his handgun with faulty flashlight. The woman before them, collapsed against one of the ugly yellow walls, aimed back in response. From the look on her face and the wound she clutched with her free hand she was not in the mood.

“Hey,” she said to Jeremy, “lower your weapon. You greet a girl. You don’t point your shooter at her.”

Wynonna’s eyes met the boys on her left. “Hey, this is my show. Who invited you two?”

Dolls holstered his gun. “We thought—”

“You’re Fireflies,” the woman said coldly, re-raising her gun to Dolls. He threw up his weaponless arms in surrender. “I can see your tag. Don’t lie.”

He tried to reason, “We’re not—”

“The only Firefly I trust is a dead Firefly.”

Just as Wynonna made to put down this clear soldier by surprise, the woman lowered her weapon once more, fully this time.

“But maybe I should be more chivalrous; Fireflies aren’t my biggest problem right now.”

The three, still huddled in the doorway, eased up. Nicole and Waverly soon joined them, once again raising the woman’s weapon. Dolls’s arms flung upward again.

“You can trust us,” he promised. He slowly made his way over to hand her his other, military tag.

“You might want to hide these,” the stranger warned, “the locals aren’t fond of soldiers.”

“Why not?”

“Another zone that went to shit?” Wynonna guessed. The woman confirmed with a nod.

“Is that what all the gunfire’s about?” Dolls asked. She nodded again.

“Our zone was going to last,” she explained in a tired voice. “We had plenty of rations and we were always one step ahead of Infected. Then some soldiers got greedy and started hoarding rations. Obviously, the people weren’t happy and decided to do something about it. They call themselves the ‘Order’ and now they’re hunting down every last soldier, including the innocent ones. Somehow the witch hunt ‘purifies all the wrongs’ done to them.”

“There’re a lot of Infected nearby,” Wynonna chimed, “they’re gonna attract them sooner or later.”

“How do you think I got here? I was sent off with the other snipers to find a place to shoot down rebels. Infected broke in and chased us off. I’m the only one who got away. One of my idiot colleagues let off a random shot and grazed me, but I’ll make it.”

“We gotta get outta this shithole,” Wynonna mumbled.

“Maybe we can help each other. I know the place well.”

“Sure, I—”

“Excuse us,” Dolls stopped, pulling his team into a huddle.

“She knows the place, Dolls,” Wynonna argued right away. The others agreed.

“So? We have a map.”

“It doesn’t tell us where crazy cultists or soldiers are lurking, though,” Waverly added.

“Come on, we don’t even know her name. She’s a str—”

“Yo,” Wynonna hollered to the woman, “what’s your name?”

“Rosita,” she answered without question.

“Her name’s Rosita. Now let’s get out of here.”

“She doesn’t like Fireflies,” Dolls argued again.

“And I don’t like soldiers, cops, or blabber mouths, but here we are!”

“Are you sure you all trust her? The Order will be looking for her.”

“They’re still far off,” Nicole reassured. “We might have enough time to outrun them.”

“Might,” Dolls emphasized.

“Who knows how they’ll react if they see us?” Waverly asked. “I think we’re in trouble either way, with or without her. We might as well take her with us.”

“If she can get us out of here first, we should trust her,” Jeremy tacked on. “Even if she’s scary.”

Wynonna turned to Dolls. “Four against one, pal.”

The old soldier sighed in defeat. “Alright, fine. I trust you. She’ll help us.”


	12. In the Zone, Part Two: Order Up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated warnings since someone's head gets blown off, a thing that happens in the apocalypse and such

Rosita Bustillos was a woman on a mission. She took command, even above Dolls, and wasted no second messing around. She was perhaps more serious and intolerable than she’d ever been, but then sometimes the promise of death did that to a girl.

She led them about the city, through more houses, more spores, some shops, and thrown-away zone boundaries. She kept it together despite the knowledge of a whole zone looking to hunt her down, whereas Dolls, who wasn’t even a target, was worried. The blasts and shots weren’t so distant now. The idea of a safe escape grew more fabled by the second, not to mention nightfall was a mere three hours away. They couldn’t afford to stop and rest. Navigating the total darkness could help them sneak about, but it could also take longer. Their potential foes would gain the same sneak advantage, too, and were more likely to rain bullets on them after seeing Rosita and making snap decisions. They’d have to succumb to the terrible truth before them: if they wanted to leave this place today, they’d have to sneak past areas liberated by the Order. This came into fruition once they climbed to a super store’s raised roof to scout.

Rosita had too much information to catch her new peers up on in a short window of time. She briefed them on the most important matters, beginning with the Order’s leader. He was Ewan Allenbauch, human form of the word “determination”. He was ruthless, always reached his goals no matter the difficulty, protected his own, and raised hell on his foes. He wasn’t stupid about achieving victory, but calculated and poised. He understood loss sometimes meant victory. The Earp sisters were convinced he was actually Bobo from what Rosita let on.

They couldn’t hang around or stop for a single second. They needed to pass through, make no suspicious contact, and blend in as best as possible. The Order’s numbers were too great for anyone to label them strangers. Rosita was to don a disguise and lay lowest of all. She’d lead them to the old restricted smuggler’s route she spent so many shifts looking over, trying to keep people from sneaking out and returning with bites. She knew the place so well she could draw every detail from memory.

Most importantly, everyone needed to find something red to wear. It was the “uniform” of the resistance, so every single person would be dressed this way. Even those who weren't fighting, such as children or the unable. If everything went smoothly they’d be home free half an hour before sunset, though the dark might provide excellent cover for their getaway.

-

“Mmm, you look good in red,” Wynonna purred, eyeing Dolls’s new sweatshirt.

It was good they stopped to scout on a super store, because everyone except Wynonna and Jeremy didn’t own red. The large selection of abandoned clothes weren’t too bad, either. The house from before had its own collection, but the sizes didn’t quite match everyone.

“But scared as all hell?” she continued. “Less cute. Seriously, dude. You look super pale.”

“I don’t like this,” he admitted freely.

“We don’t have to do it. This place is safe enough for the night.”

“What we’ll find in the morning might be worse.”

“So? We’ll just climb back to the roof and figure it out.”

“We might not have time for that. But it’s too late to turn back.”

“Dolls, we’ll be fine. We’re Team Earp! Kick ass! Don’t give me that look. We Earps have the majority.”

“I don’t want another drug store mishap.”

“Hey,” she stepped over, staring into his eyes from a closer distance, “this is different. Way different. With less creeps and dumb traps.”

“Yeah, just a group at least five times in size, all armed with a—”

“If you worry so much you’ll have a heart attack before we even start.”

Dolls shrugged. “Might be better.”

“Look,” she yanked a bottle from her pack, “I found some champagne. _When_ we get through this we’ll pop it open and have a big ol’ party. Even if I hate champagne. So relax and focus up, ‘cause we’ve got a party to throw. And I know you love to party.”

“Fine.” He added sarcastically, “For the party. The sad party with one bottle of champagne, no music, and the end of the world.”

“Sounds like a good Friday to me.”

“It’s Tuesday.”

“Let me live, you cretin.”

-

Rosita managed to locate a suspected smuggler’s route using her detailed map of the zone. It helped the six sneak in, blend like they’d been there the whole time. Since the Order’s numbers were so generous, there was room for some to rest while others waged chaos uninterrupted. If Dolls wasn’t mistaken, the travelling war zone was now in the vicinity of the super store they just left. Good thing they didn’t stay; they’d be scrambling for a hiding spot. Escape route, if luck left them.

The team’s newest member, currently beating out Dolls’s sour Soldier Mode tone, ditched her fatigues in the super store. She made sure to hide them well enough for no one to find. Not until she was out of here, at least. She let down her hair from its bun for the first time since the Outbreak, since shifts became longer and tedious, and days off disappeared overnight. She parted most of her thick locks over her face and threw on the biggest aviator glasses she could find, as well as a jacket with a large hood rimmed with fake fur. Her military tags were tucked away and she reminded Dolls to do the same.

Rosita entered the zone first, then Dolls, Wynonna, and Jeremy, then Waverly and Nicole. They crossed the long, winding streets as nonchalantly as possible, mimicking each and every one of Rosita’s steps. Mostly, they focused on her to ignore the surrounding elements.

Blood splattered across the pavement wasn’t new; if a town _didn’t_ have such a decoration, it was an imaginary place or perhaps this sanctuary the Earps sought wasn’t the first of its kind. What they weren’t used to, or simply forgotten, was the sight of torn-apart families. Families weeping over loved ones recently deceased. Those who probably weren’t so lucky to survive, limbs blown off elsewhere. Members arguing about how so-and-so should’ve stopped so-and-so from plunging into war. Siblings passing the blame about who should’ve saved mom, who should’ve watched out for dad. Orphaned children. For Dolls this was just another tragedy, not the first he’d seen. Jeremy calculated such a sight, but that didn’t mean he could stomach it. Wynonna pretended it didn’t bother her. Nicole remembered how her own siblings fought about their dead parents, though there was nothing they could’ve done from cities away. Waverly ran and re-ran random versus in foreign languages in her head, but it was all just too much to ignore. She eventually clung to Nicole’s arm, gripping her hand tight to search for a security Nicole was happy to provide.

“Quite the sight,” the taller of the two said between them and only them.

“It’s like the Outbreak all over again,” the smaller replied in an equally hushed tone. “Except I don’t have a homestead to run away and hide in.”

Nicole held her hand tighter, more reassuringly. “I got you, Waves.”

A few steps down the line a lonely man, despair looming over his face, stopped the two as he’d been stopping everyone else.

“Injured?” he asked. “Or know of any?”

“We lucked out,” Nicole replied, not a hesitation in her lie.

“Good, good. Say, I don’t recognize you two. Doctor Jameson, if you need help.”

“Victoria Michaels,” Nicole returned, just as convincing as before.

The lie was a force of habit: in this new world it wasn’t wise to give away any hints of your real identity, even if there was no longer an easy way to put this information to any real use. The idea was to give a _false_ set of trust to strangers, because they could turn around and shoot you at any minute.

“This is my girlfriend,” she went on, “Elle Hollis.”

He smiled as best he could, but despair still took his expression. “It’s nice you two have one another. Don’t let go. Love is all we have.”

The stranger and Nicole nodded their farewells, she and Waverly taking slightly larger steps to close the growing gap between them and their team.

“Sure are less homophobes now,” Nicole muttered. “Only took a brain-eating virus.”

“Not a bad save, officer,” Waverly shot a teasing grin. “But I thought we weren’t girlfriends.”

Nicole matched her expression. “A girl can dream.”

“A girl can have me.” Waverly winced. She wasn’t supposed to say it out loud! “Uh,” she scrambled to fix, “if she’s ready, I mean. Sorry.”

Nicole grinned still. “Don’t be.”

Waverly changed the subject. “So, ‘Elle’, huh?”

“You look like an ‘Elle’. Maybe a ‘Cleo’ or ‘Terri’. Maybe not a ‘Hollis’, though.”

“Hmm,” she considered. “You don’t seem like a ‘Victoria’ to me.”

“I sure hope not. Victoria’s my older sister. She’s a total bitch, as much as I love and miss her.”

“Like fun party Wynonna bitch, or _bitch_?”

“The type of bitch that _ruins_ parties.”

“Huh.”

 _Must be an older sister thing,_ Waverly thought, in reference to Willa.

“At least she’s got style,” she said.

“That she does.”

“In that case, you’re definitely not a ‘Victoria’. Maybe ‘Mary’ or ‘Alicia’.”

A number of paces forward, Rosita ran into the same issue. She couldn’t shrug off incoming denizens of the zone, so she opted to speak Spanish and pretend she didn’t understand until they awkwardly ran away. Only one person understood her words, and she found getting them to leave difficult. But she managed.

Hopefully nearing this smuggling route, someone finally approached Dolls, Jeremy, and Wynonna. Wynonna cursed this rebellion’s need to look after each other. Where she was from, if someone didn’t make it back no one made a fuss. Other than celebrating larger rations. The man, posture perfect and expression as high and mighty, introduced himself as Ewan Allenbauch, leader of the Order.

“I don’t recall seeing any of you around,” he told them to finish the almost procedural checking in.

Dolls tried not to answer too quickly, beating out whatever lie Wynonna cooked up herself. He knew it was probably best to let her handle this sort of thing—her specialty, after all—but panic overtook him.

“John Holliday,” he said. “This is my wife, Kate, and my nephew Wyatt.”

“Hmm,” Ewan nodded crisply. “Still doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Well, I—”

“Ewan!” Someone stopped their dangerous talk, placing a hand to their leader’s shoulder. “We found a whole troop west. We could use your help.”

“I’ll be there. Go rest.” He looked the three over once more before turning to leave. “Take care.”

“You, too. Sir.” Dolls said convincingly. He thought so, anyway.

The three took no time in resuming their tailing of Rosita, who deliberately slowed her pace the moment they were stopped.

“Didn’t take you for the westerns type, _Holliday_ ,” Wynonna teased.

Dolls corrected, “Not movies. History. Bass Reeves was my hero, but I chose Doc and Wyatt just for you.”

“How sweet.” Wynonna mockingly placed her hands over her chest, fake swooning.

“Wyatt Earp was a _legend._ Doc, too.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to have ol’ Doc here, fastest draw and all.”

“Overcompensating mustache and all.”

“Hey, you and Weirdo Beardo are lookin’ awfully fuzzy, too. Lucky for all of us, I found razors. And a real brush. Stupid hair just sticks together in little clumps like tiny orgies. But nothin’ sexy about it.”

“Good. You can finally stop using your knife to cut out tangles.”

“I’m resourceful!”

Dolls let off a laugh, one that caused his head to turn slightly. His gaze met Jeremy, couple steps in front of him. He was trying not to stare at the bodies stacked under long cloths, covering them out of respect. And to keep people’s hearts from sinking lower.

Dolls bumped his shoulder with the back of his hand. “You holding up okay, Jeremy?”

“Okay enough,” he murmured.

Dolls wanted to try to joke, a habit he’d recently picked up from too much time with Wynonna. He planned to say something silly, something about how it was great the gore in games never looked this real, but he knew it’d be received poorly. Instead he patted his friend’s shoulder and promised, “We’ll be out soon.”

And soon they did leave, surrounding eyes too busy and too heartbroken to notice the six slip into the route one by one in their separate groups. First through a tight break between a locked off building revealed to be an old bookstore. Waverly wished they could stay long enough to swipe some lighter novels at least, but they continued on and through another crack in the wall, across the store’s wide interior. She moved so fast, trying to catch up with the others who weren’t dead last, she didn’t notice Nicole stuff a handful of historical fiction novels into her bag. It was already heavy with all those soup cans from before, but Nicole didn’t mind. The next portion after the second squeeze-through was yet another tight space. A collapsed roof made a big enough crawl space until spitting the six back into the untamed land outside the zone.

Ahead held more neighborhoods and less Infected, the herd probably drawn off to the noise emitting behind the group’s current path. Rosita explained these homes were abandoned in a hurry months ago, so the place was worthy of a quick ransacking. This city was a jackpot, the type of jackpot miracle they needed given their thinning supplies. More ammo, clothes, and toiletries were found, as well as a healthy haul of canned goods. What those before deemed unworthy the team would thrive on.

Once again they met the wide, open road, always a promise of travel and the unknown, whether done by foot or by car. By car was preferable, but not much could be done there. Wynonna tried. She’d kill to hear the roar of her old motorcycle, feel the wind rush through her curls . . .

Every pair of feet came to a halt. They were asked to, followed by questions of their real identities and real intentions here. Then Rosita’s name was uttered, the woman’s heart racing at the almost evil snarl on Ewan Allenbauch’s face. How did he know? And how’d he manage to tail them for so long without being seen?

“When I see a wrongdoer,” he explained, somehow guessing it’d be necessary, “I make it my business to know them.”

“What, you kept a hit list of all these soldiers?” Wynonna shot back, annoyed. They made it. They were _done_. At this point Ewan bothering with them seemed a waste of time.

“Something of the sorts,” he returned, expression and tone unchanged.

“I haven’t done anything to you,” Rosita defended. Ewan’s new, emotionless expression wasn’t impressed.

“You let your peers betray us. Silence is a crime, often as bad as the action.”

“We’re leaving anyway,” Dolls reasoned, “and she’s coming with us. We don’t want to start something.”

“Unlike this one, I will not lie to my people. I promised retribution and I will deliver it. If you handed her over in the first place you could’ve been spared.”

At his threatening words Ewan’s men drew their weapons. Wynonna immediately stepped in front of her sister.

“Point those somewhere else,” she warned. “Why even follow us out here?”

“It’s enough you’re helping this traitor. I won’t let you spread panic, too. This is better handled quietly, away from the others. Peacefully.”

Wynonna looked to her sister. “Oh look, slaughter’s peaceful now! Neat!” She turned back to Ewan, yanking Peacemaker from its cozy holster. Her team repeated. She added, “You’ve made an enemy this Friday.”

“It’s Tuesday.”

She nodded. “Good to know.”

As eyes searched for a quick getaway to cover and fingers found home on triggers, a blinding smoke engulfed the opposing side. While conversation was made Rosita was busy making a smoke bomb. Something told her it’d come in handy. Some fired blind shots while others ducked behind abandoned cars to shield themselves. The smoke cloud wouldn’t last long enough for a fast getaway, not on the empty road they found themselves on. These guys picked a good place to execute the team—there was no escape.

Heads peeked up and down like a game of whack-a-mole; the moment someone peered up from cover a bullet whizzed past their head or extended weapon. Seeing as the legion the Order sent had larger numbers, these bullets were typically theirs. They found no trouble in advancing on the team, either, who trailed backwards accordingly. Wynonna considered crafting a Molotov cocktail but there was no telling if the cars surrounding would go off too, never mind creating an unstoppable chain reaction. Instead she followed Nicole in using the new hunting rifle as snipers, similar to Rosita’s actual sniper rifle at work behind them. The fact she didn’t slip away was honorable. She easily could’ve; she was furthest to the back.

No one noticed the sneaking opponent who grabbed Dolls from behind. He tangled thick arms around the old soldier’s exposed neck, who struggled to shake his attacker off. Dolls tried to keep low and remain under the car’s protection but this man pushed him upright with overwhelming force, figuring him out. Guns pointed for him but a bullet from Jeremy’s gun freed him quicker. He heard shots pelt against this mini-van’s rusted side and saw two more fly in the air above him as he ducked. Too close. He nodded thanks to Jeremy, who thought nothing of it and focused back to the shoot-out. Since he was trapped behind cover, Dolls checked his potential killer for the usual tools. His eyes popped when he saw the man was carrying a flamethrower. All he had to do was get close enough.

If anyone else, save for Rosita, attempted Dolls’s do-or-die plan, they’d be done for. But Xavier Dolls was a practiced man, a practiced soldier, trained for this sort of thing. Maybe not with broken cars as cover and mostly normal, average people as backup—though he wasn’t sure he’d ever prefer a different team. Certainly not one who didn’t notice his intentions without verbal cues and immediately fanned out to keep him shielded and his position a secret. Successfully he managed to crouch-run and military crawl to the opposing side’s established front. Rosita managed a devastating headshot that startled her victim’s surrounding men, horrified at the sight of an ally’s head exploding in a pool of blood and chunks of a brain functioning perfectly not a breath before. Dolls popped up, face-to-face with Ewan, and let off his borrowed flamethrower, careful to stick to flesh and not to vehicles. The sights, smells, and screams that followed were uncomfortably horrid.

-

There was no place better to stay for the night than an old mattress store. Wynonna popped open that champagne as promised, saying something about how Dolls saved the day. Clearly, he felt terrible about _how_ he handled the Order—until Wynonna added something along the lines of him being a “tiny, super sexy dragon”. Then another comment about how well he pulled off red.

Focus shifted to Rosita’s future. She was thanked not just for helping them get through the city and avoid more Infected, but for not running off while the Order had them cornered.

“I like to keep my word,” she said, sipping from one of the flutes Wynonna stored away with purpose today. “I’d also like to apologize for turning my gun on you when I saw you were Fireflies. It was stupid. Honestly I don’t think I’d mind joining them now, after meeting you two.”

“Technically we’re not members right now,” Jeremy chimed. “We’re trying to rejoin a group in the north.”

“If they’re still together and didn’t move,” Dolls added.

Wynonna’s heart sank at the realization they’d be going their separate ways. That this team was a temporary arrangement. Not just because she definitely had a small crush on Dolls, but because, for the first time in her life, she found herself around people she enjoyed. People she laughed with, fought alongside, would fight _for._ Shared a shitty old bottle of champagne with.

Rosita continued, “I’d love to find a group near a beach. Any beach. Not that I’ve ever been to a beach.”

“Me either,” Waverly joined. “Wynonna has, though. Because she’s lucky.” Her sister shrugged at the clear call out. While she was off gallivanting around Europe Waverly was at home in Purgatory, busy with school, her job, and the chore that was Champ Hardy.

Nicole laughed, “You girls need to get out more often!”

“I’ll say,” Wynonna added, sipping then scrunching up her face at the taste. “Bunch of losers, I’ll tell ya.”

-

Time passed. No one was calm enough to sleep, not after their eventful day, as tired as it should’ve made them. Rosita was convinced to join the team after a long back-and-forth on how she wouldn’t be a bother or a strain on resources. Familiar. She even seriously began to consider siding with the Fireflies. After, her new teammates re-shared stories of their lives before the Outbreak. Wynonna bragged of her travels and gambling skills while Dolls dwelled on his now-pointless soldier’s past. Waverly and Jeremy groaned about how they lost all the hours and money and effort put into their education. Nicole assured them post-college life was nothing glamorous, especially after marrying a total stranger in Vegas.

They learned Rosita wasn’t a soldier because, like Dolls, it’s what she wanted to do, but because it’s what she _had_ to do. Her immigrant parents weren’t rolling around in money and none of her many siblings considered anything past working in the family restaurant or picking up a trade. Since they were so poor she spent most of her time in high school working a separate job from the business, so her grades weren’t strong enough for a helpful scholarship. Her time as a soldier was the key to the education she sought, free of financial charge, one where she’d become an engineer and biochemist. She managed to successfully juggle school and her time as a soldier, unable to find a different job to hold her while in college. After she graduated she remained until a job in her desired career cropped up. When it finally did, the Outbreak hit. Her family lived so far apart from one another she didn’t know who made it and who didn’t. Staying in the zone seemed her safest bet, even with the area’s heavy Infected population creeping up on them, constantly pushing the zone into relocation several times.

-

Silence. Calm. Everyone got comfortable as the day’s hard work demanded to be felt. Wynonna made room to remind Dolls he did good work today, despite whatever doubts circled his mind. She was sure to add, “Don’t question your leadership skills again; being co-decision-maker is terrifying. No thank you.”

But even with her peers nodding off to sleep around her, Waverly’s mind wanted to wander. And she invited it. She sat alone by one of the front’s windows, tonight’s full moon shining brightly on her face twisted into worry and into the unfinished bubbly perched between her hands. She saw too many broken families today. Too many broken couples. She couldn’t help but wonder if her pining for Nicole was a good idea. What if the unspeakable touched them? Could she keep fighting to go on if she lost someone she cared that deeply for? Rather, someone she _wanted_ to care that deeply for.

“I thought you were the bubbly cheerful one; more bubbly than this bubbly.” Rosita had approached her, unfinished drink also in hand. “Something on your mind?”

“Nicole,” Waverly answered, hushed. “I think about her all the time. I don’t care if we only met a few weeks ago.”

“So tell her.”

“I did. She said she needs time. Which is fine, of course, but I’m _dying._ ” She set down her drink on the floor next to where she sat, leaned against the solid bedframe behind her. “But now I don’t know. Not with all this chaos going on. We’ll never get that perfect, snapshot, dancing-on-the-beach moment.”

“Perfect is overrated. If everything was perfect, then champagne wouldn’t have bubbles.”

“Hmm,” she sipped from her drink, still more than half full.

“Bubbles are made up of carbon dioxide rising from nucleation points. And nucleation points are these small defects in the glass that trap these tiny, vibrating pockets of the carbon dioxide. So no defect, no bubbles, no magic.”

Waverly still looked uneasy. She even gulped down the last of her drink.

“Look,” Rosita persisted, “there’s no such thing as a perfect moment. Ever. Just the good and the bad. Who cares what’s going on in the world? It’s now or never.”

Nicole herself was close enough to overhear in the total silence of the finally-calm atmosphere. Sometimes having sensitive hearing was for the best.

“It’s now or never, Haught,” she mumbled to herself.

She felt a little silly; she’d always known perfect was an idea, a dream, not a real thing. Maybe her crappy sleep schedule was getting to her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some subtle references from all over for ya, like Rosita's 209 talk (which took a long time for me to get for some reason), Dom and Kat's other roles, and one to Doc because I'm starting to regret not writing him into this little world


	13. Star-Crossed Lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologizes for the brief delay. All around bad luck every time I sat down to edit this chapter.

“I’m really getting sick of this.”

Nicole stared up from where she stood alone, eyes squinting in the blank, snowy pale brightness. Above, sitting on what looked to be the edge of a lengthy wall was Shae, legs swinging and that same, rude grin.

“But I enjoy our chats,” Shae returned, voice as annoyingly calm as ever.

“No you don’t.” Nicole approached the wall, craning her head farther back the closer she inched to keep eyes on Shae.

“Sometimes I do,” she shrugged.

Nicole crossed her arms. “When you’re teasing, yeah.”

“Only because you’re so cute when you’re red and flustered.”

“I’ll show you cute.”

“What, are you going to lunge at me again?”

Nicole’s head dropped. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t okay.”

Shae scoffed. “Just a couple days ago you charred a group of people. Don’t get bent up about lunging at me. They’re real. I’m not!”

“Hey, that was all Dolls.”

“Would you have stopped him?”

Nicole didn’t answer.

“I don’t blame you. Surviving is surviving, after all. Who cares how you do it?”

Nicole sighed, dreading this entirely. It wasn’t like she _enjoyed_ the aspect of killing others to get by. No one did. But it was something that had to happen; either them or her type of thing.

“You’re here to complain,” she said, “so spill it and let’s move on.”

“Complain?” Shae’s tone was a faked innocence. Technically Nicole wasn’t wrong. But she preferred “lecture” to “complain”.

“You’re always complaining about something! Especially when it’s something _I_ do.”

“Who the hell needs to go jogging at six in the morning?”

“I do! And I’d say it’s come in handy!”

“Yes, it has, but did it have to be so early?”

“It was the one time I—we’re-we’re not talking about this right now! It doesn’t matter!”

Shae smirked, satisfied with Nicole’s frustration. “What shall we talk about, then?”

Nicole shrugged. “You tell me.”

Shae swung her legs for a while, until finally, “You heard Rosita’s clever champagne advice. I know you did. But were you listening, is the question?”

“What else would I be doing? Writing a screenplay?”

“Always quick to arrogance. Did you _listen_?”

Nicole rolled her eyes. “Yes, and now I’m a changed woman,” she said sarcastically. “I thought we agreed me and Waverly getting together was a bad idea?”

Shae slipped out a genuine, shocked gasp. “That was before the poor girl poured her heart out to you!”

Nicole stammered, eyes wide, “Wha-what the hell!”

“That was cold.”

“You told me to!”

“I’m not real, you psycho!”

“God, I really hate you,” Nicole muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose. When she looked up again Shae was on the ground with her, arm’s length away.

“Don’t you _want_ to be with her?”

“Hell yes, I do! Who wouldn’t?”

“So? Go for it.”

“I can’t.”

“Oh?” Shae crossed her arms, annoyed with Nicole’s indecisiveness. “Why not?”

Nicole groaned, beginning a frantic pace. “Because I’ll screw it up—like I _always_ do—and the rest of this long trip we’re taking will be awkward as shit!”

“As awkward as the ‘just friends’ act you’re both failing at? When clearly it’s a terrible move?”

“I have never had a good relationship. My last one ended with me sending her off to certain doom. Waverly’s not going to be another ex. Hell no.”

Shae laughed. Nicole stopped at the sound. “Really? You’re comparing your old relationship to a hypothetical one? That’ll take place in the actual end of the world and resemble nothing of a normal relationship? With zombies? And cannibals?”

“Come on, are you helping me or not?”

“Oh honey, you need much more than just my help.”

“You seriously suck.” She moved to walk off into the undeterminable fog of wherever they were, but Shae snagged her arm.

“She’s not some dumb high school sweetheart. Or college fling. Or other college fling. Or third college fling. Or random girl you were lucky enough but stupid enough to marry. She’s Waverly. A small little thing with a gun that should be way too big and way too much. A force of nature. Annoyingly smart vegan and whatever else it is you gush about. If you don’t want her, that’s your loss. But tell her that, because having her wait is plain cruel.”

She patted Nicole’s shoulder, walking back towards the high wall she sat before.

“Take her or leave her, Haught. Don’t let her dangle like a poor fish.”

“But what if—”

A sharp thud shattered the world her mind kept orchestrating, the one where she’d eternally be at odds with Shae Pressman, whether the old doctor actually lived or not. Her startled eyes searched the tent around her, hand reflexively grasping for her weapon. But the only danger posed was a fallen book, the hardcover flat next to Nicole’s head. And panicking guilty eyes, hands thrown over a gaping jaw.

“Oh balls, I’m so sorry, Nicole!” Waverly’s words were muffled by the hands covering her lips. “I was reading and walking—like an idiot—and I tripped—”

“ _I’m_ the klutz?” Nicole stopped intentionally, not wanting Waverly to fall into a spiral so early in the morning.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed anyway.

“Don’t be,” Nicole assured with a stretch. “I wasn’t a fan of the dream I was having.” She pushed her blanket aside and sat up, handing the thin but loud hardcover to Waverly. “So thank you for freeing me.”

Waverly took the book in cautious hands, fingers locked tightly around the thing. “But you have such a hard time getting to sleep. Then here I come, with a stupid b—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Waverly’s eyes followed Nicole as she stood, ready to start the day. “In Rosie’s town I got enough sleep to power through a whole week. I miss that mattress already.”

“You get me books and I wake you up. That’s hardly fair.”

“Your smile is payment enough.”

Nicole smirked as Waverly reddened and fumbled verbally, the right string of words impossible to find despite her extensive knowledge of language. Relief hit her like a bus at the sound of Wynonna and Dolls returning, Wynonna calling everyone to meet up for breakfast. Though it’d take some time to actually be cooked and ready. As the two joined their team Rosita mentioned wanting to help out, because she felt bad eating food she didn’t help catch. Nicole silently agreed. But Wynonna explained to the new kid alone time driving Dolls nuts for hours, at a time she’d normally hate being up at, was tradition now, and breaking tradition would only bring bad luck. Given the team’s knack for danger, they needed every ounce of luck they could carry.

-

The theory was an earthquake hit this place, if the military hadn't hit it with drones first. Somehow it was more devastating than what they saw in Rosita’s town (“Rosita’s place, on crack," as Wynonna declared). Buildings weren’t buildings anymore, only rubble stacked in a way that might imitate one, like some edgy art student redesigned the place to symbolize how society has destroyed the earth or something. From what sort-of high ground and Rosita’s scope could see, there were two options for navigating through the mess: take the long way out of town, or use the usual shortcut presented by freeways. Except this road was only accessible by highway—the highway destroyed down the middle by the same thing that hit this town. From what they could see the crushed bridge was still attainable through stacked articles and a long rope ladder. More debris was stacked at the top of the passageway, molded to resemble shelter. Someone lived here. And probably dictated who came and went. The only way to tell was to approach the place in person. Or scout closer.

They spent a healthy amount of time without danger following, strolling about dead shops and homes. Somewhere along the line they ended up off the parts of open streets that still existed and under an endless line of rubble. It felt no different than navigating underground channels. Spores presented themselves in the enclosed space soon, and uncomfortable, sight-dulling masks returned to faces. They stumbled across batteries for flashlights in Rosita’s town just two days before, so navigating wasn’t as difficult.

This was great, because gunshots and screams echoed about the place. They needed to leave, fast. The only known exit, where they entered, collapsed completely with no signs of budging. Whatever this nonsense was, the team needed to figure a way around it before they added their own gunshots and screams to the mix.

This place, an old school’s gym, was divided by the former roof. The six could see another group through “walls” formed in the mess, doing a poor job at handling Infected. Dolls could pinpoint screeching croaks and low pitched clicks—Stalkers and Clickers. The toughest ones. The angriest ones. Splendid.

The team was smarter than the fools running circles around their attackers, putting the purpose back into the old gym. They laid low and advanced, searching everywhere for an exit. Somewhere along the way the Earps stumbled across a man crushed by debris. Wynonna gently pushed her sister away when he reached for her foot. The sisters expected the usual, aggravated groans of a desperate victim of the Cordyceps, but found muffled pleas in their language, with real words.

“Please,” he begged from under stacks and stacks of thick lumber. He could only move his one free arm, a wedding ring clinging to his finger. The way it reflected the lights was blinding. Wynonna searched for a weapon but it seemed to be trapped under, too. “My mask broke. Please don’t leave me to turn!”

The sisters only eyed him as their mates huddled over. There was nothing they could really do. The top of his head was exposed enough to place a bullet with some aim, but then Infected would be on them. His neck was buried under planks. Snapping it would risk the moving of noisy wood. Stabbing him and leaving him to bleed out could take too long, or attract unwanted attention with the rich fumes of blood—though there wasn’t real proof the smell actually attracted Infected.

They discussed quietly, until Wynonna was urging her sister’s gaze elsewhere and motioned the team to walk off. No one was strong enough, in this moment, to argue. Ignoring the man’s pleads and cries were a horror. But not worth getting killed over.

-

What they found afterwards wasn’t easy to navigate. They were finally spit back into fresh air, probably for the best; forgetting what they did, as a team, wasn’t easy to swallow. The altered landscape was winding and unpredictable, sometimes leading them in long, elaborate circles. It was maddening. But the collapsed highway, today’s goal, only grew bigger. So they were doing something right. And that was reassuring.

An old shop granted a second floor with a functioning staircase—the greatest gift in new world architecture. With further inspection, the place looked to be a fancy restaurant, with awful prices to match. Rosita’s enhanced eye revealed people were indeed present at the highway, posing as perfect bridge trolls. She and Wynonna looked the place over once more, Wynonna mostly mocking the locals, who appeared as tightly-wound as Dolls was when she first met him. The changed man himself, in the meantime, examined his under-detailed map to double check for a second exit route. The remaining three scavenged about, Nicole remembering a time her family took her brother to a similar restaurant. The place was too fancy for his blood, and he wasn’t exactly sure why such small proportions cost so much, nearly triple the cost elsewhere. She wholeheartedly agreed, but her sister and parents only shushed him.

Now Dolls was proposing a crazy idea: he’ll head down and see what type of people they were dealing with, maybe strike a deal to let them use the shortcut they sought so hungrily. No one approved, but off he went anyway. Hanging out with the Earps was boosting his gambling to stupidly dangerous levels. If they were trigger-happy hunters, he’d be done for.

So maybe that’s why he hugged corners a pinky’s width away and stuck close to old cars and probably counted on the way Rosita was currently stalking his every step with her trusted rifle and trusted aim. Luckily these men weren’t hunters—but they weren’t friendlies, either. Guns were drawn, but not all aimed. Dolls was a single, lone man, after all. What could he do? He made his case to cross the highway, offering anything in return. But he was only shrugged off. One chimed, _No soliciting!_  while another ensured him they were capable and didn’t need his help. He was a single, lone man, after all—one who voted to keep his colleagues, who _could_ do something, anonymous. Said colleagues, save for Rosita, who remained on the second floor where she ensured Dolls’s safe return, awaited him at the old building’s doorway. He was perfectly okay until Wynonna angrily slapped his shoulder.

“Don’t do stupid shit,” she nearly shouted. “That’s my job!”

“If Rosita wasn’t here I wouldn’t have gone,” he defended, joining the group where they clustered. “It was worth a shot, wasn’t it?”

Wynonna crossed her arms where she stood in the half-together door frame, some space away from the team. “Doesn’t mean you shou—”

A man cropped from around the corner, gripping Wynonna tight and the knife he held to her neck tighter. Guns left pockets and makeshift holsters. Above Rosita jumped from the table she used to aim outside and prop her sniper with, turning the thing to get this man in her crosshairs. The heavier weapon and her rushed movements made enough noise for the man to notice and peel back, at a distance harder for her to hit, where the remaining parts of this structure and those surrounding secluded him. But he didn’t look like a thug. Not the usual thug who did this sort of thing. His hands shook and glistened with sweat, and Wynonna could probably escape his sad hold with little effort. The anxious expression from behind a trimmed beard projected just how new to this he was.

“Put the knife down,” Nicole calmed, experienced in this sort of thing. It wasn’t the first time it happened, and since she was a police officer before the team decided to leave these sorts of things to her. Frankly, she was better at it than Dolls. “We can talk this out. Nice and easy. No one has to get hurt.”

“I need your help.” Even his voice shook. “And I really need you need to say yes.”

It was a demand but released as a cry for help. He tried readjusting his faulty grip on Wynonna, who, unimpressed, reacted with a roll of her eyes. Without effort she yanked the knife from his hand at her neck and slapped him across the face. His blade was dull, almost a toy, attached to an old pocket knife. Not worth keeping, so she tossed it at his feet.

“Try that again,” she grumbled. “Nicer.” She motioned for everyone to lower their weapons. “He probably shoots the way he holds a hostage.”

“You okay?” Waverly beat Dolls to the question. Wynonna gave a thumbs up.

“Stellar.” Then, at the man, “What’s up, friendo?”

He rubbed nervously at his arm, quite embarrassed. “Ambrose,” he introduced with an awkward wave. “My-my love went with the others to rid some of the local Infected. There’s a bad population—”

“We know.” Wynonna waved him along.

“But he isn’t back yet. Everyone else is.”

“And you want us to help you find him,” Dolls huffed. Ambrose nodded swiftly, and perhaps for too long.

“No one else from the group will help. They didn’t see him, either. They said he’s a goner. But I know my Levi’s out there somewhere.”

“Group? Like—”

“Yeah, them. I can get you access to the highway. It’s the fastest way out of town. And the safest.”

-

It was a fair trade-off; venture into _one_ small area to avoid countless later. So, the team voted to take on a temporary seventh member and returned to the winding tunnels of collapsed monstrosity behind them. Getting to advance in half the time and half the danger was worth it.

Before they re-entered, all noise a doomsday time bomb, Wynonna showed Ambrose the _proper_ way to take someone hostage. When he insisted violence was best left to willing hands she reminded him such kindness was the quickest way to get killed. She found herself repeating the same conversation she had with Waverly when the Outbreak first hit. If he was to venture on with them, temporary or not, he needed to be willing to put someone down. Otherwise the deal was off. She understood killing wasn’t easy to stomach, but killing was the only way to stay alive. So it was just another part of everyday habits, no different from eating or sleeping. Or harassing Dolls in the early hours of the day.

Not a soul missed the spores or the masks or the distant groaning of Stalkers. These days they seemed to find more and more spores and less fresh air. According to the map, after this town, there’d be a long stretch of countryside. Best news in days. Countryside meant silence and fresh air, and fresh air meant no spores and less Infected. The thought of being so close only urged them to shuffle on faster.

On the bright side, things were easier than before. Infected weren’t chasing clumsy men now known to be from Ambrose’s group, but instead minding their own business.

Soon they learned the peace wasn’t for the best.

In the silence Stalkers and Clickers must’ve heard rustling or whimpers of defeat from Levi. Sensible, seeing as Levi was the man they left to rot under the pile of debris. The man who begged to be killed before the unspeakable struck. And struck it did.

They hoped Ambrose was mistaken. No part of Levi’s ripped-apart corpse was recognizable, used by prowlers for food. But his ring remained, a symbol for his eternal love and dedication to Ambrose. ‘ _Til death do us part . . ._

No one breathed a word of the truth to Ambrose. No one could _bear_ to breathe a word of truth to Ambrose.

Nicole remembered Shae’s words from her dream. _Surviving is surviving. Who cares how you do it?_ Levi was infected before thanks to breathing in spores, so _did_ Ambrose have to know? Either way he was dead, right? It was a thought that eased some minds. Even if it was wrong. But how could you tell a sobbing man you let his love suffer until the very end, because there was small chance of getting caught?

A man who held his childhood sweetheart in his arms. A man who fought decades of homophobes but never bat an eye, because he was with the one he wanted. The one he protected, first from hateful wrongdoers, then from real-life monsters. Ultimately, Levi’s biggest downfall was a crappy old wall and a broken mask. It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t right.

Ambrose told his and Levi’s story not thirty minutes before. Watching him struggle to keep it together, struggle to say goodbye, struck a chord with Nicole. She lost Shae, and maybe a small part of her really cared for the woman. Mostly, she was married to the idea of her. The idea of waking with someone, coming home to someone, laughing, talking, acting goofy in the grocery store and not caring what sorts of looks they got, turning red when they knew just what naughty thing to say. Now she met Waverly. Now, when she thought of those little moments the mystery woman was a brunette. Hazel-green eyes. Total history nerd. Badass with a shotgun. Sunshine in her smile. It didn’t matter how long they didn’t know each other. Levi and Ambrose had decades and it still wasn’t enough time. Whether or not Nicole was “destructive”, Waverly could handle herself. She was starting to see this, see taking the chance could be worth the risk she feared. She didn’t have to be this perfect thing for Waverly. Perfect was overrated.

A boom killed everyone’s thoughts, guilts, and what-ifs. They weren’t alone.

Facially disfigured Clickers and partially disfigured Stalkers responded right away. Ambrose kissed Levi’s palm goodbye and took the ring for his own, the ultimate trinket from their lives together. Rosita blasted the first Stalker sprinting for them, a small herd gathering behind. Dolls took position in front of his team and unleashed the last of his new flamethrower’s gasoline. Charred flesh was a stench no one hoped to revisit.

More poured in, but from far enough to give the seven a wide enough window to return from where they came. After retracing the same path in by far the quickest time yet, they met the same, barricaded exit, beams of light seeping through with promises of freedom. Dolls and Wynonna routinely opened the way with a push of debris, and Waverly spared her sister’s sanity by leaving first. Nicole followed, helping hold it open on the other end, then Jeremy and Rosita. Ambrose seemed to be frozen in place, staring at the approaching figures and letting off careless shots. Dolls motioned Wynonna through and yelled for Ambrose to do the same. When the man didn’t budge Dolls made to cross through. He wasn’t risking bites. His intention wasn’t to flat out abandon Ambrose, only to secure himself a safe escape. He’d be damned if the black guy died first in this real life horror film. He still helped hold the piece together, snapping Ambrose out of his trance with harshly worded shouts. As anyone could guess, the world’s apparent unluckiest man was bitten on the leg as he crawled out. The barricade was dropped by the six hands holding it open, the whole thing finally crumbling to unavailability as enraged limbs tried to slap and punch and kick it open on the other side, a way of asking not to be bothered again.

Time wasn’t taken to process Ambrose getting bitten on his worst day ever. The seven only focused on continuing forward to avoid any stray Infected. That exit wasn’t trustworthy, not against the dozens beating endlessly at it. After endless paces and a considerable distance they finally stopped to rest in yet another broken down shop to catch their breaths, save for Wynonna, who took no time in raising her Buntline Special to Ambrose’s forehead, already glistening with sweat.

“We help you and you fuck us over?” she demanded. Waverly pulled at her arm.

“Wynonna, don—”

She shrugged off her sister. “Nope, I want some fucking answers. Who was the gun, huh?”

“I didn’t send anyone!” Ambrose pleaded. “If I did, why would I have them attack you in a place crawling with Infected?”

“Hey, some people are stupid.”

“No one followed us, I swear! What would we get from killing you?”

She scoffed. “Loads more ammo, guns, food, clothes—”

“Okay, okay,” he stopped, the question suddenly feeling dumb. “But I swear I don’t know who was in there with us! Nobody wanted to leave camp. Please, I’m telling the truth!”

Wynonna didn’t want to believe him. But the way tears began to fill his eyes, the way he shook from head to toe—he wasn’t lying. If he was he could’ve been a convincing actor, one who’d be a goner in the next twenty-four hours regardless. She reluctantly lowered the Buntline christened Peacemaker and returned it to her waist with a sigh.

“So what now?” she asked. “You were bitten.”

“You kept up your end.” His words were heavy with his panting. “I’ll get you to the highway. But I’ll have to ask you one more favor—”

“No.”

“Please, it’ll be simple. Shoot me. I don’t want to turn. I want to be with my Levi.”

Guilt took over Wynonna. She felt responsible, dismissing everyone and leaving Levi to be eaten and ripped to pieces. She thought she was protecting her people, and maybe she really did. In the situation no one dared to argue, too shocked to say anything. There was no telling how long it took Levi to actually die. But surviving was surviving. Who cared how it was done? _They_ were alive. That’s all that should’ve mattered. Wynonna knew this. She’d do anything to keep her sister safe. So why’d she feel so terrible?

“Sure,” she agreed, no hesitation in her voice. “I get it. I’ll do it.”

“Thank you.” His eyes were soft, in a way that made everyone feel terrible. Wynonna could only pat his shoulder awkwardly.

“Sure thing.” She looked to her peers, first gripping her sister’s arm in a way of apology. “Let’s take a breather. Look around.”

No one said much after. There wasn’t really much to say. Some sat, others wandered after breaths evened out. After some time Wynonna pulled Ambrose aside to tell the truth. She couldn’t let him die without knowing. It’d probably kill her too; she felt so horrible for letting Levi suffer so terribly. A part of Ambrose wished she hadn’t told him, but a bigger part appreciated the honesty. What a day.

Two more people, hyper aware how drastically life could change in an instant, were also sneaking aside. It was all Nicole’s idea, unrevealed to Waverly, who only grew more suspicious with every second. Finally they settled in the most completed room they’d find. Nicole shut the door despite the gaping holes blasted through walls. Here Waverly planned to say something, but the nervous redhead in front of her beat her to words.

“I’m a perfectionist,” she blurted a little too quickly. “If one little thing gets out of hand I go _nuts_.”

An amused grin crept over Waverly’s lips. Just what was this? She tried, “Nicole, what—”

“I turned you down because I was afraid I wouldn’t be good enough for you. I thought I’d screw it up and something would happen to you. But that makes me kinda dumb because you don’t need someone watching your back. Even then you’ve got Wynonna doing it anyway. When I imagine us together I remember every screw up I made with Shae. How we weren’t perfect.”

“Well,” Waverly shrugged cockily, “perfect is overrated.” She loved seeing the shaky, nervous exhale of laughter from Nicole. Not being the flustered mess was nice. Nicole was cute when she was worked all up, Waverly noted.

Nicole agreed, “Exactly. Levi and Ambrose might’ve been perfect—maybe not fairy tale perfect, because of homophobes—” She stopped herself, shaking her head to focus. “They still didn’t have enough time together. Not that it’s a guarantee for us, but—” She swallowed, uneasy. “But I _want_ to be with you. If you’ll still have me.”

“I’ll always want you,” Waverly gently assured, closing the distance between them. Nicole’s heart pounded in her throat as Waverly took her hands. “But are you sure? You _won’t_ screw this up, because you’re amazing, but if you’re not sure—”

“I’m sure. I want this. I always have. Well, ignoring the part where I freaked out.”

Waverly moved the messy strands Nicole’s gas mask pulled out of place behind her ears, thumbs stroking her cheeks. “For a perfectly good reason.”

Nicole rolled her eyes in disagreement. “Yeah, sure. What I’m trying to say is, the world’s already shit. Let’s just make the most of it.”

Waverly’s heart fluttered. “I like that plan.”

Gleefully, their lips reunited as one, arms throwing off heavy backpacks and turning to a wall for support. Nicole took the reins with no resistance from her willing other, pushing her against the worn wall as Waverly’s hands found home on her neck. Waverly happily parted her lips for Nicole’s tongue to explore, while journeying herself with wandering hands. Just as she moved to grip the bottom of Nicole’s new hoodie to throw it elsewhere, a boom cried from only a couple blocks over. They broke apart in an instant, none too happy about being forcibly sobered.

Outside they found the rest of the team in the same confusion. Ambrose knew it was near his people, and off they ran at his panic, Nicole and Waverly hovering near one another, closer than usual. Less awkward than usual. More comfortable than usual. Despite certain doom ahead, neither could force down their giddy grins.

The team collectively crashed to a halt at the sight before them. Ambrose and Rosita saw the chaos for chaos. The Earps and their from-the-start allies came to conclude the gunshots from earlier belonged to a crew. A much bigger, dedicated crew currently tearing apart the setup and its people resting below and above, on the highway bridge.

A crew led by Bobo Del Rey.

They gave him plenty of time to track them. They stopped to make a deal with Perry’s posse and rested there for a few days. They rerouted a number of times in Rosita’s town, stopped to find clothes to blend in, and snuck through the quarantine zone at a casual, slow pace. Then they turned in much too early at the mattress store, hours spent talking and welcoming a new member. And now they had completely backtracked and took time to rest, long enough for a whole relationship to begin. Before then they spent hours going in circles. The entire time they had to figure how to pave their way; Bobo merely had to follow what tracks snow was generous enough to leave behind. With his numbers, by the looks of it, they didn’t stop to sneak around Infected, but took them head on, equipped with enough bullets, bodies, weapons.

The highway was a no-go. They wasted their time—again. From the tense atmosphere Ambrose and Rosita could guess they knew these barbarians, plundering the heavily neutral survivors before them senselessly. Ambrose explained how to leave town again using the long way, marking on Dolls’s map the places he knew some Infected hung around. He muttered something about wishing they could’ve used the shortcut, because they earned it for stopping to help him, even after he threatened Wynonna’s life, then he motioned them off and offered a distraction. As they ducked behind cars, stacks of rubble, and parts of whatever structures remaining, Wynonna regretted not getting to keep her promise. Not because she was some sadist who looked forward to killing some poor guy. She felt sending him off, in a way, would help him be “free”. Free of this cursed world. Free to join Levi in whatever comes after death. Free of pain. Free to smile and love as openly as ever, no fear of hunters or Infected or hate stepping in and mucking everything up. It sounded heavenly, and he’d get to die easy, not at the hands of some thug.

But he did, his sacrifice pushing them to safety and the noble purpose of continuing on whatever this little adventure was. The little adventure that was racking up quite the death toll.

Gunshot. One more to the toll. They’d make the best of this. They’d get out and continue onward, remembering forever how he literally took a bullet for them, complete strangers, whether or not he was a dead man anyway. He wanted them to escape to greener pastures, so they would.

If they could.

A whole swarm met the team—from thin air, practically. Rosita slammed down another smoke bomb she stowed away but it served no purpose.

For four of them, anyhow.

She and Jeremy were behind the team. Rosita because her sniper was unfairly heavy, not that she’d ever complain. Jeremy because he was better suited for exercising his brain, not his legs. They changed direction to the most logical step, Jeremy following her lead. They assumed the others were following, maybe off on another way. They could worry about meeting up later. But no footsteps trailed near them—behind, ahead, left, right—because they stopped. They didn’t notice the bomb until too late. Jeremy about-faced with the intention of rescue. He’d use every bullet of that SMG if he had to. But Dolls yelled for him to go on. The sight of a large fur coat, slicked back Mohawk, and earth-crumbling scowl erased every itch to disobey. He was suddenly hit with a bigger realization: he and Rosita were their only chance to escape Bobo’s clutches. Maybe not now, in the obvious open, but later, when they’d least expect it.

 So on he ran.


	14. A Svane Called Del Rey, A Svane Called Earp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, the return of obnoxious Bobo-related typos...
> 
> There are a few words and a phrase or two in Spanish from Rosita in this chapter. I am not a Spanish-speaker myself, so I deeply apologize if anything's wrong (and welcome any corrections!). Spoiler: pretty much all of them are swear words (which was a blast looking into; Mexican slang is the BOMB).

“They got away!”

At Waverly’s relieved words the team caught a glimpse at their to-be saviors, sprinting further off into the distant unknown. One was a soldier and a skilled sniper. Both were gifted scientists. Not bad odds.

“We’ll get them back for you.”

Bobo’s words, slathered in snake venom, intercepted the team’s rising hope. More so after he ordered some of the surrounding men to hunt their missing members down.

Across the way Rosita was aware of the approaching boots, without the aid of Jeremy’s fearful warnings, and let off another handmade smoke bomb. At this rate she was becoming a walking chimney.

“The others,” Jeremy panted as they sprinted. “What’ll . . . what’ll we do?”

Rosita craned her neck as far left as it could go, just in time to see bullets flying for them. For the second time in a row the damn bomb didn’t do the full job. She yanked Jeremy by his sleeve and pulled them to cover behind an old car. Not much of a choice but to fight now; risking being caught later wasn’t worth it.

“These  _cabr_ _ó_ _ns_ first! Then we’ll worry about it!”

Rosita ripped her sniper from her shoulder and rested it across the wide, protective vehicle’s dented hood. She instructed Jeremy to fire if their foes approached too close, an educated call considering his atrocious distance aiming. They were opposites in that sense. Maybe if he had a scope, too, he'd be fine.

Bobo spared three men to catch them—two to make numbers even, another to pull advantage. Not a problem with Rosita’s eye. In more ways than one her sniping abilities saved her life, namely after the Outbreak hit. Each time her quarantine zone had to push back she fought off Infected from rooftops. Some felt like cowards, and maybe she sometimes did too, but it was worlds better than being bitten or trampled or eaten alive. Losing friends and living on without them was a heavy weight, but she had to learn to move past it. Or, as she typically did, push it all down and hope she never explodes. Frankly, there was too much to do; feeling bad about every single unfair thing that happened since the Cordyceps destroyed everything would be an exhaustive weight. Best to move on.

This new group, though, they were special. Worth saving, not turning tail and running, remembered as another sad set of names in Rosita’s long list of lost allies she had to sacrifice to live. Maybe it was how different they were from soldiers; how they refused to leave a man behind, did everything for the good of the team without going over the edge. Cared for every member like family. Or maybe she was swept up in the Earp sisters’ fairy tales of some sanctuary north. A sanctuary where families could stay together and others could begin anew with little worry. Where Infected were handled. Where soldiers didn’t unfairly steal and cause an uprising for the worst. If the place didn’t exist, at least she’d still have the Fireflies, still trying to save the world.

She felt hopeful again, wanting to pave a path rather than sit still in a place she thought would be a sanctuary. Hope was why she stood here, sniper perched, listening to the, admittedly, awful shot next to her try not to totally lose it. Of all the things going on right now she was glad he wasn’t some dimwit who could get them both killed with one dumb move. Good thing she never met Champ Hardy.

The first kill was easy. He didn’t see it coming. But his fall revealed Rosita’s sniper and sharp aim. She tugged the gun’s bolt to reload, eye never leaving scope to track the remaining two to cover. The one on the left fired only blind shots. None neared the intended vicinity. Mostly they hit more rubble or bounced off the car in front of she and Jeremy. Her attention moved to the right. _He_ was aiming, popping his head far enough over a thick stack of rubble topped by an old restaurant’s sign. Easily, she blew his smaller brain to bits, an audible scream from his partner sounding at the sight of blood and guts blowing in every direction, some forever staining that old sign.

The man on the left never moved from cover. He only ever showed the tip of his weapon, occasionally a few fingers Rosita never noticed in time. No other choice but to advance. She wouldn’t have Jeremy do it, because he wasn’t trained for this sort of thing and she could never learn to trust his horrid aim. She witnessed it, first hand. Good thing he was smart.

Her shoulder burned—the same one that finally started to heal from her last partner with terrible aim. He was a spotter—his aim should’ve been trustworthy!

She didn’t notice her mistake until too late, the most common error in receiving any injury. The deep tone of her rifle missing and her order for Jeremy to hold fire made a noticeable silence, even with the chaos Bobo supplied in the distance. The remaining pursuer took a chance and peeked slightly over the side of the car he used, past the bumper, and spotted Rosita moving between cover, sniper on shoulder and Glock in hand. Blind fire turned to real, aimed fire, and now her empty, exposed shoulder lost all progress of healing. She dove behind a metal trash can to avoid the following bullets. The phrase, _¡_ _Chinga tu madre, cabr_ _ó_ _n!_ left her lips rather loud as she shot back at him with the frustration that comes with getting shot. Her blast confirmed success with another holler, a hard collapse, a quiet.

She sprinted over and grabbed the three’s guns before rejoining Jeremy. They voted to ditch the scene and soon found themselves in an old neighborhood, some homes mostly intact. The one they chose to enter was just as boarded up as the others, but at least the garage door wasn’t rigged to remain shut forever.

They ducked in, slid the door closed, and took a breath. Rosita shrugged off compliments from Jeremy, both lost in thought about what to do next and taken by the imitation armory before them. Unfortunately none of the many gun racks held any actual guns, save for one, empty shotgun. The sight reminded her to inspect what she picked up. All three were identical to the extra handguns they already had tucked away, with almost no bullets to go on. if she waited longer with the third target, he could’ve run out of ammo and she’d never get shot again, light graze or not. Stellar.

Jeremy looked around while she patched herself up. Again. After some consideration he took the old shotgun hanging alone from the shelf and claimed it for his own, ammo or not. The SMG he carried was an emergency type thing, so technically he had no secondary weapon. Dolls had his flamethrower to make up for his own restricted rifle. A shotgun was probably above his pay grade, but maybe he could switch with Wynonna or Nicole. A hunting rifle certainly had a lighter kick in comparison.

They found more tools to make explosives. Jeremy still had blades tucked away and made more nail bombs. They were barbaric, but useful. And kind of cool. Rosita crafted more smoke bombs in the meantime, still stocked up on sufficient sugar. While their hands worked to memorized patterns they bounced ideas on how to help the others. Rosita tried to ignore how surprised Jeremy was to learn he wouldn’t have to convince her to help—just because she was the newbie didn’t mean she didn’t care!

“Okay,” Rosita proposed a third plan. “Hear me out: fireworks.”

Jeremy’s face twisted in confusion. “It’s almost January.”

“No, _est_ _ú_ _pido,_ as a distraction. We can set them off, confuse those thugs, grab our team, and leave.”

“What if Infected hear it?”

“No different from the gunshots.”

Jeremy didn’t like it. Something about it felt wrong. “I don’t know. Too risky.”

Rosita looked at him, impatient. “Any other ideas?”

He scratched at his chin, before suddenly perking up, “We kidnap Bobo!” Rosita laughed at his idea. “We kidnap him,” Jeremy persisted, “and use him to make them hand over Dolls and the others!”

Rosita gave up entirely on her smoke bomb project, leaning over her chair with an amused grin. “How would we do that, exactly?”

Jeremy stammered, unsure. Theoretically, it would work.

“While you figure that out,” she said again, “I’ll get to work.”

She shot him one last look, stopping when she noticed just how worried Jeremy was.

“Look, I know it’s risky, but we have to trust everything might actually work out. For once. And leave it to luck. Again.” She paused. “How have you five even made it this far?”

Jeremy snorted at the question. “I have no idea. Screaming and running?”

-

Bobo’s crew successfully claimed their second camp. A place to start over—location-wise, of course, because their ethics were as unmoving as cement. They stepped rudely over fresh corpses created by their hand, separated the four in their custody. Dolls and Nicole were placed in someone’s old living space while Wynonna and Waverly were taken to await a dreadful conversation with Bobo in the place’s biggest room. A king demanded the most luxurious space.

Guards sat outside the makeshift holding cell containing Dolls and Nicole, posing as the soldiers or officers they’d never be, not like the actual soldier and actual officer in their custody. Their weapons remained in their possession, a gamble the men were willing to take considering the open space with little cover, how massively outnumbered they were, and nowhere to run if they tried anything. Or maybe it was an invitation to try something, to give an excuse to down two more people. These were the type of people who could become addicted to killing. Dolls was surprised no one tried to lift his assault rifle. At least, not yet. He knew the only real reason nobody tried anything was to keep the Earp sisters somewhat civil. Nicole and Dolls discussed ways to escape, maybe try to slip out after everyone drifted off to sleep later. There was no telling what Jeremy and Rosita had in mind as a grand rescue scheme, two gifted geniuses, one a soldier, the other a mass consumer of movies and games. Their creativity was endless.

Dolls expressed his worry for Jeremy, who’d always been something of a brother to him. There was no denying he was a terrible shot, but Rosita’s aim was good enough for the both of them. Nicole gave her colleague a pat on the shoulder and a reassuring, "They’ll be fine. They’re too smart to have anything happen to them.” They both agreed the two, at their cores, were one in the same. They’d get the job done. Nothing to worry about.

Truly, the two _were_ hard at work; almost a mile away the duo in question scrambled to craft fireworks from scratch, Rosita yelling at Jeremy in Spanish every time he fumbled. He suddenly wished he learned the language in high school, instead of his nerdier instincts telling him to learn Japanese. But then maybe it was best he didn’t know what she was yelling at him. Rosita didn’t need to be something scary in two languages. That’d be plan unfair.

“I’m guessing they’ll use sound,” Dolls said. “Distract everyone so we can slip out sort of thing.”

Nicole nodded in agreement. She pointed through holes in this handmade shack’s wooden walls, identifying areas lacking heavy rubble or population of thugs. “One step ahead of you; already found some places to sneak out.”

“Huh.” Dolls was impressed. “We should hang out more.”

-

The atmosphere was uncomfortable as they waited Bobo Del Rey, the one person they thought they’d finally rid themselves of. The lavish room he picked out personally was unfriendly, only holding more anxious air between its spaced walls. It was like awaiting the principal and an earful about breaking some dumb school rules. Except Wynonna was actually nervous. And cared.

Rustling sounded outside, but no one entered. Wynonna muttered something about being unprofessional.

“Well,” Waverly sighed after a moment, “at least Nicole and I were somewhat together before we all die.”

Wynonna’s cold eyes popped wide open. “What? When? I’m your big sister! We’re supposed to gossip about this shit! So I can make fun of you and threaten her!”

“That’s a convincing point. It’s kind of a long story. At the drug store—”

Someone entered the room. The grand but short-lived love story of Waverly and Nicole died off instantly as the figure let a cold wind into the waters.

Willa.

“You probably have questions,” she said, looking her sisters over. She didn’t look angry for once, but sorry—genuinely sorry.

“Questions?” Wynonna asked sarcastically, eyes darting from Willa to Waverly, then back to Willa. “No. No, because clearly the last seven years of my life—end of the world, all that—are all a part of some bad dream. Must’ve had a bad night drinking.”

Willa looked deep into her eyes. “I’m sorry.” No usual sting of her tone—genuinely sorry. But Wynonna didn’t care.

“Well, I guess that solves it, right?” She suddenly broke from her calm tone, borrowing her older sister’s sting, and leaned away from the wall she rested against. “What the hell were you thinking? Other shitty things aside, why’d you shoot at Waverly? Don’t give me that look. Answer me. You owe us a fucking answer.”

Personally, Waverly cared none for an explanation. She was long over it, because it was a long time ago, when they first met Nicole and Dolls and Jeremy and began this whole journey. At the most she was mad because Willa had shot Nicole instead. But she let Willa go on anyway. She knew Wynonna needed the explanation.

Willa sighed. “I shot at her because I made a mistake.”

Wynonna scoffed, her eyebrows jumping up. “I’ll fucking say!”

“I gave you the map.”

Wynonna froze, Waverly right with her. “It’s fake? You made it all up?”

“No, I didn’t make it all up. Someone _else_ is scamming you. I was sick of hearing both of you complain about the camp. Every single day—every _second_ there was a problem that set one of you off. Were you expecting a utopia?”

“They were torturing and killing people for food!” Waverly protested.

“They did what they had to! I always knew Robert had it. I figured since you both wanted to leave so bad, you should take it and go. Go chase some fantasy instead of dealing with what’s in front of you.”

“How’d you know Bobo had it to begin with?” Wynonna’s words were spoken before Waverly could ask the same question, interested now.

“Robert’s had the letter since we were at the homestead. When we were packing up the truck to leave, he looked over our land one last time. The mailbox was knocked over and he saw it sticking out. I saw him take it.”

Of course she saw him. She wasn’t exactly helpful in packing up the truck.

“I looked at it later,” she went on. “I wanted to get rid of it, but I never got to it. We were too busy on the run, I suppose.”

“But you went with us.” Wynonna’s voice was riddled in confusion. “Why’d you fake your death?”

“I didn’t want to go with you. I wanted to stay at the camp, where it was safe. Then we ran into those Runners and I got the idea.”

Wynonna took a short breath, followed by a disbelieving, distrusting step away from Willa, an expression to match the betrayal she felt.

“Nonna, come on, don’t look at me like that!” Wynonna couldn’t listen to Willa’s request. This was too much. Too far. “I knew you would try to convince me the camp was terrible and running off to fantasy land would be better. There are no morals when it comes to survival, Wynonna. Not anymore. But I knew you wouldn’t care to hear it. You still don’t! I thought if I was dead to you, you wouldn’t have to worry about me and you’d be able to move on without feeling bad about leaving me behind.”

“Thinking you were dead was the worst fucking feeling in the wor—” Wynonna stopped herself. She lost the strength to argue, maybe because she truly couldn’t believe this was happening, was real. Instead she muttered, “You still haven’t answered the question.”

Willa was kind enough to continue, “I regretted sending you away. I knew you were still in town. We were all caught trying to sneak out the gate the night we were supposed to leave town. After that happened, Robert set up a guard post. There was the problem with the woods, too. You couldn’t have been far. Eventually you disappeared. You hadn’t been seen from anyone in camp, so I thought you were missing. Or dead.”

“And shooting at Waverly would solve this for you?” Wynonna asked impatiently, her eyes sharp enough to pierce through Willa’s very soul.

“I thought if something happened to Waverly, you’d return to camp. That you’d think you couldn’t make it on your own and give up.” She chuckled at the idea of Wynonna Earp giving up. She had to add, “Even if it’s not like you.”

Wynonna wasn’t as entertained. She was at a close enough distance to shove Willa, hard. It took everything not to strike her. “Waverly’s your sister, too, you shit! How could you?”

Willa stumbled back to balance, the usual scowl returning to her face, her short temper lost. “Waverly _isn’t_ my sister! Or yours! She’s adopted! A stranger! An outsider!”

Waverly felt her heart skip a beat, one thousand questions exploding into her mind at once. This wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.

Could it?

Once again, Wynonna beat her to words. Probably for the best; the way Waverly’s mind was racing, she wasn’t sure she could manage a sentence.

“Where’d you get this _rich_ information?” Wynonna asked, levels past disbelief, hurt, and anger.

As if an answer to the latest question, Bobo Del Rey entered the room, long fur coat swaying with his overconfident stride. A calm grin of victory overtook his face. The sight cooled the atmosphere, but the feeling of uneasiness remained.

“The place is ours,” he said with a sort of bow. “The previous tenants have been . . . _persuaded_ to leave.” He gestured around vaguely, his grin turning evil. “Welcome to your new home, ladies.”

“Smells like theft,” Waverly muttered.

“We needed a place to stay, they weren’t willing to share. We made a compromise.”

“That mean Lou’s boys finally kick your ass?” Wynonna asked.

Bobo shrugged. Wynonna expected him to defend his manly honor and boast about how strong his boys were or whatever, but he seemed alright with the comment.

“It was for the best. I see that now. Here, there’s no competition. Anymore.” His grin died as he took a menacing, threatening step for Waverly and Wynonna. “Which leaves me plenty of room to keep an eye on you both.”

“Again,” Wynonna protested, “don’t need a sitter.”

“You girls had me worried,” he admitted. “I made a promise to your father. He asked, if he died, that I look over you three. Now, I’m not one to break my promises. I keep them. Always. Especially to good friends.”

Wynonna rolled her eyes. “You’re a real gentleman. You came all this way and slaughtered a bunch of innocents—just for us! How sweet.” She crossed her arms. “Why’d you hide the map from us, Robert?”

Bobo laughed, surprise taking over his expression. “That’s what this is about? That’s why you ran away?”

“We left because you’re a fucking psycho. We used to trust you, Robert. Then you became hard, cruel. The moment you met your stupid crew and found some real balls you turned into the world’s biggest dickhead. And now you’re fucking with Willa’s head, too.”

“She’s always been cruel,” Waverly mumbled.

Willa heard. Always the hot-headed type, her revolver left her pocket and aimed. Wynonna rushed in front of Waverly, quickly yanking Peacemaker into her own hands to aim back.

“Don’t _ever_ point a gun at my sister,” she warned.

“She’s not your sister.”

Willa’s words stung Waverly, more so than ever. All those years they spent together and Willa couldn’t see past the fact she was adopted? They were never close, but it was a silly thing to be so strung up about. Especially now.

Wynonna shot back, “She’s more my sister than you are.”

Before this had a chance to blow up into something else, Bobo snatched the revolver from Willa’s hands, breaking past her deathly tight grip. The absence of the weapon immediately eased the tension.

“Ladies, let’s settle down,” he said. “Before someone does something they regret.”

He waved for Wynonna to dispose of her weapon. Why she put the thing away and didn’t finally shoot Bobo was a mystery. Not shooting him _was_ something she’d regret.

Suddenly someone else barged onto the scene, face sweaty, yelling something about hearing small explosions close to their new setup.

“The runaway rats.”

Bobo handed Willa back her revolver before leaving to deal with the issue. First he was sure to confirm verbally she wouldn’t do anything rash. Everyone knew Willa was _always_ doing something rash, but Bobo trusted her and left nonetheless.

Willa remembered what happened last time, how she was off guard and let Wynonna knock her out and escape so easily. If Bobo hadn’t come back to look for her, they all would’ve forgotten her to Lou’s boys. Seeing as she was the one who pulled the trigger on Lou himself, things wouldn’t have gone smoothly. They’d find out sooner or later. So she stared at them, and they stared back, silent but intense.

Then their pulses pounded collectively.

A Clicker shrieked outside before breaking the poorly-made door down, inviting itself in for murder. Willa froze. Waverly fumbled with her shotgun. Wynonna killed the thing, imitating the draw speed of an old west gunslinger.

“Time to move,” Wynonna said, ushering Waverly for the exit.

“Where’d they come from?” she asked, rhetorically.

Wynonna answered anyway, “Bobo’s idiots probably pissed them off with all the fucking gunfire. Let’s j—”

“Where are you going?” Willa demanded.

“Don’t know what they teach you here, but when Infected show up, you run in the opposite direction,” Wynonna said. “Like some guy trying to get you to sign a petition.”

“It’s safer in here!”

“No, we’re sitting ducks in here!”

“Wyn—”

“No time to argue.”

Wynonna grabbed her older sister’s hand and thrust her into the unruly scene outside. She promised to find the others and sent Waverly off to escape to safety. She tried to do the same with Willa, but Willa was insistent on finding Bobo.

Waverly didn’t listen, either. She dodged and weaved her way through the crowds, focused narrowly on finding Nicole and Dolls. Instead, in the wild mess of shouts and piercing projectiles, she ran into Bobo. He acquired an assault rifle and, despite almost never shooting bogeys himself, like the king he was, he shredded through the foes surrounding him without missing a step. It was Waverly’s intention to sneak past him, but of course a Runner stopped her. It approached too fast to shoot in time, so she found herself trying to push the monster away with the length of her long gun. The former human was strong and persistent, leaving no window to actually do something about him while he struggled against her gun, trying to spread his disease. She was so focused on the attacker she didn’t notice Bobo moving closer, finishing the squabble with a short burst of his gun. More approached from behind. No choice but to turn in Bobo’s direction. He gunned down the half-dozen behind her as she sprinted to freedom, even if it was by his side. Waverly wasn’t one to leave a favor unpaid, no matter to whom, so she spun around and helped gun down the incoming numbers in all directions around them. Bobo thanked her as they fought, with a handful of shotgun shells. She accepted—not much room to be stubborn and proud.

“Saved them for you,” he said over the booms of their weapons.

“That was stupid of you.” Maybe there was _some_ room to be stubborn. “What if someone needed them?”

Bobo shot down two more Runners, like the fodder they sometimes were. “If someone uses up their share, I trust they can find more.”

Waverly quickly shoved a handful of shells into the weapon, expert fingers working without fumble. “So you don’t trust me, is that it?”

Bobo snorted. Waverly was something else when she was mad. “Consider it a gift.”

“Check your right.”

Bobo jerked his rifle’s muzzle slightly over, catching three more before they could reach an unsafe distance. The pair kept inching backwards, hoping to find a way out of this spot, where endless waves of Infected seemed to keep pouring in.

“Is it true I’m not an Earp?” Waverly blurted after a time. She wasn’t sure Bobo had this information, close with Ward or not. But she had to know. A part of her knew it wasn’t important, because Wynonna would always be her family, but it still hurt like hell. It seemed a cruel secret to keep, her true identity and all. It was her damn business to know!

“This is the best time for this talk?” Bobo’s question implied she’d be around later to ask again, as if she and Wynonna didn’t plan to leave his clutches again.

“I have to know.” She stopped scanning her surroundings a moment, searching for both enemies and her missing allies, and looked at Bobo. “Please. I _have_ to know.”

Bobo paused as well. Not that a swarm followed them right this second; the numbers finally died down. His eyes, always unwelcoming, always cold, peered into hers, desperately awaiting the answer. Briefly, he found another group of his men nearby, a herd overtaking their dismal numbers.

“You’re not an Earp, Waverly. Technically speaking, you’re a Svane. My blood. You’re not mine, but we’re kin. No one but Michelle knows this.”

With this, as Waverly’s mind short circuited in the worst of ways, he left. She watched as his bullets unleashed once more, now aiding his men paces ahead. She was distinctly aware of someone calling her name. But she could only stare off in torturous disbelief.

“Earp!”

Dolls’s voice, but Nicole’s hand touched her shoulder.

 _Earp,_ Dolls had called. Bad timing.

“You okay?” Nicole asked.

The correct answer was no, but Waverly nodded yes. She numbly followed the two over to the highway, first glancing at Bobo one last time. Her kin, somewhere down the line.

-

Across the way, Willa and Wynonna had their own problems. They still worked seamlessly together, even better than Wynonna and Waverly, but there was still a lingering tension. Understandable, given all Willa’s done.

Somehow, Wynonna didn’t care. She voiced this, too, as they did everything they could to avoid certain doom. Willa was family. Like Waverly. They grew up together, shared the same home, dreaded the same holiday gatherings, snuck the same drinks while underage. They grumbled about Ward’s awful nature together, dreamed the same ridiculous dreams where they’d be super stars who never had to look back on Purgatory ever again. She wasn’t willing to totally forgive Willa, probably ever, but she wasn’t willing to leave her with Bobo, either. Even if, disturbingly, Willa claimed to love him. _Love-love_ him. _Bleh._ Bobo, who only seemed to unleash Hell wherever he went.

“We can sort this shit out,” Wynonna pleaded. “But you have to come with us, Willa. Please, come with us!”

“I’m safe with Robert!” Willa refused. Wynonna indicated the mess of a situation around them.

“Clearly.”

They were in a corner of sorts in this small village-like setup. Infected still hung around nearby, but mostly clustered to the center of it all, where everyone else was, generating noise. There was plenty of time to talk. “Plenty” meaning a few extra seconds.

Wynonna hoisted herself onto a stack of rubble forming a wall at first look. A ramp to the broken highway above with a second.

“You can’t tell me you’re siding with these losers,” she tried again. “Surround yourself with monsters and you’ll only turn into one!”

Short-fused Willa turned her gun on her sister—the one she liked. Wynonna was beginning to wonder if she’d actually pull the trigger. It seemed more like a way to get someone’s attention. Dangerous; they were taught only to aim if they had every intention of killing. Wynonna aimed earlier, when Waverly was threatened, she realized. Would _she_ have pulled the trigger on Willa?

“The only monster here is you, Wynonna! We’re only here because you killed Daddy!”

“I had to! He was a prick, but I couldn’t let him die; let him suffer! Not like that!”

“And now, because of you, we’ll die the same!”

Wynonna wanted to laugh. The only reason Infected were parading in was because they were agitated by the slaughter of Ambrose’s people. If Bobo wasn’t here her team would be on the highway and headed for the countryside. No Infected. No drama, no dumb arguments with anyone. She finally started to get over leaving Willa behind, and now here the girl was, bringing up settled feelings. And making them worse with each word muttered.

Willa continued, “You need to start forgetting ‘mercy’ and ‘morals’, Wynonna. You were soft, you killed Daddy, and we went through hell because of it!”

“It doesn’t matter if Ward died or not, Willa. We had to leave, anyway. Purgatory was out of resources.”

“Purgatory had _plenty._ The only reason we never went to get them was because _you_ were too scared!”

“Willa, please—”

“Everything we went through was because of you. Every scar I have and every nightmare I get at night is because of _you._ You’re toxic, Wynonna. I’m sure you’ll get Waverly killed, too—soon.”

The herd was inching closer, the more Bobo’s men scattered around and the more they moved towards this thought-to-be safe corner. They’d have to argue later.

“Willa, I need you to come with me. Be pissed, if you want. Hate me—I don’t care. But we need get out of here! Come on!”

“I’m not leaving Robert.”

“Fuck, Willa! It’s all an act! He doesn’t care about you! Me and Waverly, we’re your family! A minute ago you were all about Team Earp! Come on!”

Willa lowered her weapon. She said all she needed to say, and heard all she needed to hear. She turned to leave, to find Robert, to continue on her new lifestyle surrounded with thugs who kill whole groups of people with dishonorable shots to the back.

“WILLA, STOP!”

It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t another futile plea to get the missing member of her family back. It was a warning.

A warning received too late.

Some Runners and Stalkers who still had sight caught wind of Willa in the gleaming daylight, not a cloud in the sky to blur out shine. They poured in from her side, away from narrowed gaze set upon Bobo, the only one she deemed worthy of alliance or affection in this word. Damn did that sting.

She didn’t raise her gun in time. The force of the four after her slammed her to the ground, alongside newly rotting corpses. She fought like a trooper, shoving and shooting blindly until the six bullets in her revolver’s cylinder blasted out. The sound only attracted more and more mutated monsters. Wynonna froze in place. No one else could pinpoint Willa’s cries of help, not over dozens of others doing the same. Wynonna didn’t know what to do. This was Levi, trapped under debris again. This was Ward Earp, yelling on the homestead’s porch.

She gasped when Willa was bitten. Then bitten again and again and again and again and again. The image of Levi, torn to nothing, bone and muscle with no skin, hit her. How long did it take him to die? How long did he lay there, screaming into black nothingness for it to stop?

Wynonna considered the truth. Maybe she _did_ damn them all by killing Ward. She didn’t kill him when she shot him. Not really. She killed him when she told him to actually pitch in and forced him to go into town to scavenge around. To provide, like a father. She didn’t tell anyone he left. She could’ve. If someone went with him, he wouldn’t have been bitten. When she shot him, everyone took it as a sign to leave Purgatory for good. No one wanted or needed to see his blood plastered across the porch, where once they laughed and talked and played in the winter snow. The corpse Infected feasted on before leaving, satisfied, like he was a course in a restaurant. They could’ve stayed. They could’ve tried farming on the homestead’s sour land again. Could’ve tried actually cleaning out the part of town deemed untouchable, instead of never bothering. Hell, they could’ve joined forces with the others still camped out in Purgatory, maybe clear out the place together. Form a fantasy land sanctuary of their own. Anything but cowering in fear in the homestead. Anything but dooming her family to a life on the road, then a dumb turf war, then whisking Waverly away on the small chance this dream place was real, and they’d actually make it there alive. She could’ve done a billion things different, but here she was, repeating history by killing another Earp.

Then she had to shake it off, quick, because the sound of Peacemaker firing drove Infected from Willa’s fresh corpse to her next. She shook her head and ran for the rope ladder dangling from the bridge above. There was another Earp— _Earp,_ no one else—to save. If she didn’t muck that up, too.

Wynonna swore at the top of her lungs, breathing most of her pent up rage into the single word. Bobo’s men cut the damn rope and kicked the stacked crates under it to the ground below.

“What a perfect fucking day!” she shouted again.

She looked down for the rest of her team. They had to be here, or if they ran off she had to be sure they were actually gone. Her ocean blue eyes skimmed the place up and down, crashing to a halt once they saw Dolls, blasting away at Infected and Bobo’s morons who stupidly tried to take him down. He was using his assault rifle, deeming this hellscape the one possible opportunity to wield it. Waverly and Nicole were behind him, and the three held a perfect, moving front. All sides were secured in their perfect triangle. They followed what they could see of the highway, probably planning to climb up if they hadn’t already noticed it was inaccessible. From her vantage point she could see Jeremy and Rosita as well, their would-be heroes. Whatever plan they cooked up was probably blown to crap now. Rosita skillfully manned Jeremy’s SMG, while he used both of their Glocks to keep her back covered. One hell of a away to up his aim game.

Wynonna rode the hill of lumber somewhat smoothly back to solid ground. She, hopefully, memorized her sister’s position and grabbed Rosita and Jeremy first, a sorry expression over their faces, Rosita especially. Her fireworks helped lead confused, scrambling Infected to the place.

The six finally reunited with grins and gasps of relief, then they headed out of town on foot, heads on a swivel. No doubt most of the area’s Infected were attacking Bobo’s rowdy troupe, but there was no telling if some still prowled about. The further they strayed from the place the more this was likely.

-

They travelled in silence for hours, lost in thought. Nicole could tell from the way Waverly silently clung to her something was wrong. Dolls could tell Wynonna wasn’t right, the way she kept at a distance. Rosita cursed herself for rushing into the situation. She should’ve listened to Jeremy when he said her plan was too risky. He even _predicted_ Infected would appear. They were already on the prowl from the gunfire. The fireworks only helped them locate the place, seeing as they were launched all over. Her impatience destroyed her years of accumulated logic, beginning the moment she rushed the death of that third man, the one who had one bullet left and grazed her shoulder again. She wouldn’t go easy on herself; she almost got everyone killed.

The cloud of sheer depression and regret didn’t let up as the hours rolled by. Not as the highway finally met the ground and morphed into a normal asphalt road leading into the countryside and beyond. Not as the city and its stench dissolved into the free space and fresh air. Not as they spotted wild farm animals, unattended and wandering about their business. Not as the sky exploded into a mix of purples and oranges before finally turning black and lighting up with blank stars. They had what they spent all day craving, but nothing felt celebratory about it.

Along the empty, partially frozen land they came across a lone home outfitted with a couple small barns and an old, broken truck. Not the subtle reminder of the Earp homestead Wynonna needed. At least the sight ripped her from unforgiving thoughts. Even if just for a minute.

The two soldiers and one cop checked the area. A late night surprise was nothing anyone could handle. Not today. Jeremy got a fire going while the Earp sisters took a moment, finally, to process what happened mere hours before. There was a perfect little hill, absent of snow and coated in layers of unattended grass. Great view of the night sky. Great place to talk.

“Some day,” Waverly tried, unsure what to say. Wynonna nodded numbly from where she was splayed about the grass.

“Willa’s dead,” Wynonna revealed.

There was no use sugar coating it, was there? Waverly was probably angry with their eldest sibling either way. But the way she reacted, hit by those words, Wynonna realized she didn’t give her sister enough credit.

“Shit.”

“Infected swarmed in. Ward all over again.”

“Did you—” Waverly couldn’t finish the question. The way her sister was clenching her jaw and looking off, trying to push down her feelings, told her all she needed to know. “I’m sorry, Wynonna.”

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Her words came out cruel. She tried again, this time with an arm around her sister on the ground next to her, “Don’t be sorry, baby girl. Just another fucked up situation.”

“I’m sorry we have to keep _being_ in fucked up situations.”

Wynonna patted her shoulder before moving to sit upright. Waverly mirrored. “It’s just the world we live in now.”

Waverly’s head bowed. “Still.” Silence. Then, “What’s next?”

Wynonna shrugged. “Same old shit? Follow the stupid map, try like hell not to die. Try like hell not to get the others killed with our fucking drama, again.”

“They aren’t be mad.”

“Did you ask them? Wave, this is the second time Bobo’s cornered us. Worse than last time. The last thing any of them needs is beer-breathed morons or screeching, faceless assholes on their backs.”

“Yeah, but you can find that anywhere.”

Wynonna meant to take it as a joke, but just couldn’t. The air was too sour. After another silence she promised, “Just so it’s out there: I don’t care where you come from. You’re my sister. You’re an Earp. I love you just the same.”

Waverly was silent. She rested her head against her sister’s chest, but not much else. She wanted to pretend the whole thing about her true blood didn’t matter, because she knew deep down it didn’t, but there was no denying it _hurt_. Just like that she was someone else. Just like that a huge part of her was a lie. And no one bothered to tell her. What was the point of hiding it? Shame? Should she be ashamed, too?

“We should head back,” she said instead, moving to stand. “Get some rest. Maybe that house has a bunch of nice beds.” She paused. “I think that mattress store spoiled me. Now I hate sleeping on the ground.”

Wynonna stood with her, Waverly pulling her arms to help her out. “You _liked_ sleeping on the ground? But yeah, me too. Sleeping bags are the fucking _worst_.”

At the campfire Dolls and Rosita discussed what happened. She tried not to let off too much about how crappy the whole thing made her feel, some stray fireworks helping aid Infected to the conquered setup. They were already rioting at the sound of gunshots, but weren’t having a good time locating it. The plan she thought would go so smoothly turned to shit in a blink. She even admitted Jeremy’s ideas, including the one about kidnapping Bobo, weren’t too bad. Jeremy disagreed, as did Dolls. Wynonna, passing by, worded their thoughts perfectly. Harshly.

“We got by. That’s all that matters; survival. We’re here, not dead in the ground. Don’t look back on it.”

She felt like a hypocrite; she spent hours now thinking about her own mistakes in the past seven years. She made for the house, and Waverly stopped Dolls and the concerned look on his face from following. She knew her sister. First she needed space, then she needed a subtle but firm hand when she started to take a turn for the worst. Given their troubled home she was well-versed in how to nurse a sad Wynonna back to whiskey-soaked and reckless.

Waverly herself thought she might want space. She was always more of a talker but never really had a choice but to keep it bottled in. She’d never tell Wynonna, because at least she tried, but it’s just what she did.

Before she met Nicole.

She found talking with Nicole was _everything._ They’d spend hours intended for sleep talking. Wynonna shared the tent with them, but Wynonna was a heavy sleeper. Nicole always asked and listened to tales of Waverly’s old life in Purgatory, the one Waverly always thought was boring. Champ thought so, anyway. Or they’d talk about the toll killing took, whether it was mindless zombies who used to be human or actual humans they passed along. Nicole never said much, and Waverly always wished she’d say more, but it was a relief, finally, to be _heard._ Talking it out was something she was used to now.

So when she found Nicole, looking restlessly though one of the barns of this land, she dropped all longings to bottle everything up. To pretend nothing was wrong. To smile and wave.

She told her everything. Nicole sat her down on a makeshift bed already waiting in the barn. Personally, she figured the old owner of this place was stocked up on relatives or something, trying to avoid the apocalypse as the Earps tried, living off the land. Clearly it didn’t work out. She listened, as always, to every syllable Waverly uttered. Every tale of how she knew there was something off about her family, a ghostly feeling of not truly belonging, and how she always brushed it off. How she could never figure out why, no matter what great thing she did, Ward just didn’t _care._ How Willa used to shoot her all sorts of looks and do all sorts of things, things Waverly brushed off and labelled as usual nonsense sibling squabbles. Turns out Willa knew, somehow, she actually didn’t belong.

Waverly talked and vented and rambled until finally giving up the whole subject with a shake of her head and the words, “I’m exhausted.”

“Hey,” Nicole reassured, joining Waverly on the haystack-bed pulled together by whoever was here last.

She moved a few strands of hair aside and placed a kiss to Waverly’s cheek. Out of habit, Waverly craned her head slightly away; she was just too upset. 

“I know, baby.”

Nicole’s voice was a whisper, a promise in a voice as gentle as ever, her fingers soft as she glided Waverly’s hair up and behind her ear. Nicole pressed a kiss into her neck, rubbing her nape with a swipe of a thumb, then nuzzling her cheek before placing another kiss to her jawline. Waverly turned suddenly, grasping for the sides of Nicole’s face, lips lingering until finally they melted together. Another kiss and Waverly ran her fingers across Nicole’s smooth cheeks, Nicole holding her closer and closer. Then Waverly was reaching to pull Nicole’s shirt off, but of course, again, the cherry on today, a loud _pop_ went off outside and jolted them apart.

Nicole immediately sprung to her feet, retrieving her gun and slipping back into her shirt in one smooth move. As she pushed the door open slowly Waverly joined her, shotgun prepped. They found Jeremy by the campfire, only half as lively before, a pale look on his face. A leftover firework fell from his pocket, into the fire, and set off. While he stood frozen the others listened and looked for the inevitable cry of Infected, the curse they couldn’t shake. Rosita really regretted those damn fireworks now. Jeremy let off apologies faster than Dolls’s rifle could shoot when the coast was confirmed clear, and they all made a path for the house. Just in case, Dolls boarded the place up more than it was already. Waverly did the same with the barn. She didn’t want to leave, but stay with Nicole all night.

In the morning she found no regrets in her wish. For the first time ever, she’d never want to wake alone.

They fell asleep together, Nicole listening as dutifully as ever to more of her words, all a pathetically sad string about her latest familial reveal. Waverly wanted to believe Bobo was lying, but a part of her knew he wasn’t. She could feel it in her gut. Her Svane-riddled gut.

She woke now to an unreal feeling of safety, wrapped in the strong arms of Nicole Haught. She found refuge in the crook of her girl’s neck, a protective chin resting atop her head.

Both were awake but didn’t want to say anything, didn’t need to say anything, not even as others banged on the small barn’s door and called them for breakfast. Waverly didn’t care. She only wanted to stay here, forever, listening to the light heartbeat of the one she cared for most and inhaling the sweet scent of vanilla. She only wanted to feel the easy caress of Nicole’s soft fingers under her shirt and against her bare back. She only wanted Nicole, end of the world be damned. Bloodlines be damned. She’d make it out of this okay, alright, as long as Nicole was by her side.

Nicole was her fantasy; her sanctuary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on now, I couldn't just leave out the barn scene... 
> 
> Not that things haven't been pretty grim in this pretty grim world, but this chapter was a little heavier on the grim side. I promise you we're nearing some pretty sunshiney, Wayhaught fluff scenes that I've been waiting much too long to get into.
> 
> We're at about the halfway point here, folks. Well, story arc-wise, not chapter-wise. I can't thank you enough for the kudos, the lovely comments, or even stopping by to give this thing a read and sticking around to see how it goes.


	15. Hunting the Wild-Spirited, Part One: A Doctor to Heal the Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added Doc! Ooohhh maaannn, leaving Doc Holliday out was a terrible mistake. I finally stomped down that crazy part of my brain that needs everything to be realistic and boring and booted him in the first place because he's a real dude in history and blah blah, and finally brought him in because Doc Holliday is a part of this family, damn it. Moral: always follow your heart, people. Follow your heart.
> 
> And apologizes for the late release.

Dolls felt like a monster. He didn’t know why. He’d eaten plenty of burgers before. He’d killed plenty of other animals and eaten them within the same hour. But something didn’t feel right about killing a cow, then eating her for breakfast minutes later. _Cows are friends,_ Waverly’s three words echoed in his head. Every time they passed a fast food restaurant, and every time someone made a comment about missing a good old fashioned burger, she was sure to add the same three words every single time, her tease present without fault. Eventually they only mentioned old chains just to get a laugh out of it, then hear her and Nicole bicker about their different preferences in food. But now Dolls wasn’t laughing. He even briefly considered going vegetarian. Was it too late at this point? Then he shoved the cooked beef into his gullet, and all woes were forgotten. The taste was too damn good to give up, even if the image of that friendly cow’s life leaving her eyes would forever haunt him.

Dolls was never big on hunting. He never saw the joy in it—because he was at war as a soldier most of his adult life, an extreme form of hunting. A much crueler form of hunting. His plans before the Outbreak struck included going on one last tour then finally turning in for the rest of his life. He’d try to be a normal civilian again. But then war became reality, and he was stuck in his same fatigues, until he carried the tag of a Firefly. Being a former soldier became the definition of his survival. So maybe it was all for the best. He hunted because, like everything else, Cordyceps virus or not, he needed to survive. It felt a little wrong knowing the animal he preyed on couldn’t possibly fight back, like those innocents sometimes—often lost in battle, but they were food, and the strong needed to prey on the weak.

Hunting with Wynonna by his side tended to ease his worries, maybe erase them in full temporarily, but today his hunting partner wasn’t Wynonna. It was Rosita. And hunting with Rosita was like hunting with Dolls. Boring. Right down to business. He understood Wynonna’s complaints now. There were no jokes, no clumsy but cute slip ups, no obnoxious commentary to throw him off. Instead it was copying every page, word, letter of the textbook; silence, pointing of a rifle, a _bang!_ before hauling the poor, dead beast back to camp for cooking.  

He didn’t expect to see Wynonna out and about, walking the land alone, lost in deep thoughts that were harsh or plain sad. Jeremy sat at another campfire, mindlessly going through his possessions, taking stock not for the purpose of taking stock but to pass the time. Usually, by now, he’d be playing poker or laughing about something with Nicole and Waverly, but it seemed Nicole and Waverly were still in the barn they slipped away to last night, talking or doing things Dolls didn’t want to think about. They emerged almost a half hour after breakfast was prepared, and well after the food started to get cold. Nicole reheated her share and Waverly heated her own canned goods, Nicole’s usual braid clearly done by someone else’s hands. Someone else who flashed a proud smile every time she glanced over.

Yesterday was fresh on everyone’s lips, making for an awkward, silent breakfast otherwise filled with meaningful, long tales of past lives. Or mocking the way someone ate. Wynonna was key in these conversations, so maybe the silence would save them some embarrassment from trying to carry a good time without her influence. But, at the end of the meal, unexpectedly, she piped up, indicating a lone man walking the long road they used in order to sit here in awkward silence in the first place.

“Wave,” she asked, “doesn’t he look familiar?”

Her equally silent sister glanced at the man in the distance, squinting her eyes to focus on his features from afar. The cloud of smoke engulfing him was no real tell, neither was the Stetson perched atop his head, the dark shade the opposite plane of Nicole’s own. Tall, about Dolls’s height. Long coat with flannel underneath. Hands holding onto two sets of revolvers resting at his sides in cozy holsters. Mustache and goatee. Plucked straight from the old west at a closer glance.

He was moving closer.

Hands reached nonchalantly for guns, this man still striding over without a second thought or a drop of fear to his features. If he carried any doubt, his poker face was superior. With the distance closing, Wynonna finally recalled him as a member of Bobo’s gang, and a fellow Purgatorian. She hooked up with him once or twice in the past. Real gentleman type, she added.

And, after a few more blinks the man stood right in front of them, hands never leaving their place on his revolvers except for a welcoming tip of his hat. No one said a word, not until he finally broke the silence with his name and second tip of his hat:

“John Henry.”

Wynonna bumped her sister’s shoulder. “Oh yeah, I remember you now!” She looked to Dolls but addressed to everyone, “I used to call this guy ‘Doc’, because he looks like the real thing. And talks like him. And draws as fast. And had a wife named Kate—are you a time traveler or something?”

“Not that I can recall,” he promised, words muffled by the cigarette resting at home between his lips.

Waverly remembered him now, too. He drifted in and out of town and not much was known about him. He was the mysterious type, so of course he was close friends with Robert Svane, and easily with Robert’s Bobo Del Rey persona. Within Bobo’s ranks he was neutral, never really contributing any sort of input to the group’s affairs. He was “along for the ride,” as he always claimed. She always thought he was shady. This current, surprise appearance was enforcing that belief.

He added, “I do have apologies and condolences to give; yesterday was my orchestration.”

“How’s that?” Dolls asked, his interest beyond piqued.

“I am Bobo’s best tracker. Was, anyway. I kept him right on your heels.”

“So what’s stopping us from putting you down, right now?” Dolls asked again, his threat spoken calmly.

“The business between Bobo and I is no more. I always knew the man was out of his mind, but I do think yesterday was more than I could stomach.” His cold blue eyes found Wynonna’s own, nearly the same shade and feel. “I am sorry about your sister. I saw. Wish there was somethin' I could have—”

“Why’re you here?” Wynonna stopped. Willa talk was strictly off-limits, probably forever. There was nothing anyone could do to change it, and she knew that. So what was the point in talking about it?

“That map of yours: I would like to repay my sins by helpin' you reach where you need to reach.”

Dolls immediately refused, “No.”

“I have seen the facilities myself. It is no hoax.”

Wynonna’s eyes lit up with new hope. This journey wasn’t a mistake, then, because this place was real, not a fairy tale. There was proof!

Dolls didn’t buy it. “Why are you hanging out with Bobo, then? Old friend?”

Henry leaned back on one leg, one hand clutching at his revolver, the other pulling the cigarette from his mouth. “I was no team player, not the sort the place was lookin' to keep. So off to Purgatory I rode, to be with my former bride, God rest her well, and into Bobo I stumbled.”

“Do you know who sent it?” Wynonna asked, eyes hungry for more.

“Michelle Earp herself,” he answered.

“Mama’s alive?” Waverly gasped. She ignored the sour voice in her head, reminding her Michelle wasn’t really her mother. Michelle left when she was four, and she didn’t remember much, but she could recall the woman meant the world to her, and those few memories of, well, happiness, in its purest form. The sisters gaped at one another in disbelief, for once not the kind involving any sort of immediate danger.

“I would have told you sooner,” Henry continued, “but I thought you knew. It was not my business to pry, so pry I did not. But the walls were thin, you see, and I overheard your sister’s words from yesterday’s confusion. Now I have made it my purpose to help you reach this place you so desire.”

“Prove you’re not lying.” Dolls still wasn’t onboard. He had no reason to be. For all he knew this John Henry clown was distracting them while Bobo marched his way over here to finish the job.

“What did Mama call Waverly?” Wynonna asked.

“The youngest Earp, in her eyes—in any set of workin' eyes, was ‘angel’.”

Dolls frowned at Wynonna’s confirming expression. This man was no liar.

-

The vote was to keep John Henry, or “Doc” as he was coming to be, along for the ride. Wynonna trusted him, mostly because her heart was set on this place, this place that had to be real with everything she gambled on it from day one. Rosita trusted him enough, but planned to keep an eye over her shoulder. Waverly still thought the man sketchy, but if he had a plan by now she was sure it would’ve been executed. Jeremy had flat out, unashamed googly eyes for him. So he’d probably follow him off a cliff. Dolls didn’t trust this “Doc”, and Nicole wasn’t so sure she did, either. Not after Waverly mentioned how shady he was. On the side they agreed to keep an eye on him at all times, and ears wide open. Silently, they just wanted to be certain no more harm came to those Earp girls they cared so much for.

He was open further to trust by the team when he announced Bobo Del Rey was alive and probably after them still, the man never one to give up something he wanted. Though, with the loss of his best tracker, the deaths of countless men and handfuls others finally walking out on him, his chances were smaller than ever. But underestimating Bobo Del Rey would be a mistake, no matter how dismal his odds. Besides, odds were nothing; the team beat them left and right, like nothing.

-

Wynonna was obsessed. But it was great to see her talking and excited about something.

She ran Doc through the ringer. Their destination didn’t have a formal name, so she dubbed it, for now, “Sanctuary” as she bombarded its former resident with questions perhaps too excessive. But Doc was a kind man despite the wrong deeds in his past with or without Bobo, and answered every query honestly. He told her the type of people to expect, the type of land surrounding the place, the climate, how the midnight stars looked, what the place smelled like . . .

Waverly and Dolls were happy to see her chatting it up with Doc, but her perkier behavior had no effect on their feelings towards trusting him. On the bright side, now they’d know what to look for when the time came. They always knew “Sanctuary” was located, ironically, in an old prison, but a part of them thought it was a mistake, that the sender maybe marked it wrong. Or from here they’d pick up another map and continue on treasure hunter style with elaborate puzzles until they finally found the real destination. This didn’t appear the case, thank God.

-

Time-passing pointless conversation and stories of what-if scenarios was all this long, quiet road had to offer. They’d see the occasional free farm animal, and Dolls would feel guilty again when the time came to kill one of the friendly-faced creatures usually found as cartoons in children’s books. On their third day of travel they were lucky enough to get some action when Infected burst from the second floor of a lone house they scavenged through. Here, they learned Wynonna’s reckless-with-a-hint-of-careful style was present in Doc, too. Only his eye was sharper, sharper than Rosita’s, draw compensating for mishaps, while Wynonna slipped up from time to time with nothing to propel her to recovery. The last thing she needed was encouragement to keep up her sloppy style, but here it was anyway.

Then they were walking and walking and walking again, no more excitement and the next town still a ways off. Dolls and Rosita shared old war stories, and Wynonna continued to pester Doc about Sanctuary. Nicole, Waverly, and Jeremy played Two Truths and a Lie, until they fell on the subject of Nicole’s long list of past hookups. The initial declaration of truth was Nicole admitting Waverly was the cutest girl she’d ever been with. Waverly blushed, of course, and Nicole added, “And I’ve been with _lots_ of girls.” It didn’t take long to realize the extra comment was a mistake, and now she was telling Waverly and Jeremy about old, embarrassing partners she’d been with, the ones she met in college carrying the most colorful of personalities. By the end of the day Nicole gained the nickname “Heart Breaker”. At dinner Wynonna made sure to warn her what could happen if Heart Breaker struck again.

After almost one week of exhaustive travel, the team finally found themselves entering the smaller town just before the big city. There were no signs indicating it was ever a quarantine zone, and vehicles clogged the freeways and streets just before. All were abandoned just the same, car doors swung open and items deemed unnecessary after a second examination were tossed about. They were mostly old children’s toys and other comfort items, such as MP3 players, published books, and personal sketchbooks with old pencils. In Waverly’s opinion, these items were probably the most important; one last thing from the old world to latch on to. One last thing to keep someone from going over the edge. That’s why she still read books: it wasn’t from boredom or to increase the knowledge she already had, but to escape this hell, even if just for a minute.

A couple more paces in and they were attacked by unfriendly hunters, natives to this abandoned place. Because nobody could ever just be friendly, offer a high five and go about their business. The seven easily overpowered their measly three attackers, leaving one alive to serve as a local history expert. From this man Dolls squeezed the layout of the broken town and the types of people they should expect. Neither were in the team’s favor; the residents here weren’t kind to tourists, and were sure to hunt them down as long as they roamed the area; Water flooded boxed-in areas from rainy days, heavy as today’s gloomy fall, and it wasn’t yet cold enough to freeze. Odd, considering it was winter now. It certainly _felt_ cold enough for frozen water and snow.

They’d moved to high ground now, aided by a tall bus, a small car, and a boost from Dolls and Doc, Doc stealing Nicole’s spot as the team’s second tallest member in a narrow victory. From the higher vantage point, they saw just how the rain affected the area, flooding nearly every street across the downward-sloped town. Maybe sticking to rooftops would be better, especially with the knowledge these hunters were armed with military-grade weapons. Weapons everyone but Team Earp seemed to get their hands on. According to the man Dolls questioned, these hunters broke into the big city miles away, an active quarantine zone, and stole countless guns, explosives, and even a damn tank. All conversations from the long road before died, and anxiety filled the air between the team. If they were caught, there might be no room to weasel to freedom.

These buildings were constructed in a manner that huddled them together in fat clumps or sometimes one long string. Sometimes they’d have to return to the ground for a few paces, but quickly climbed back up with fire escapes or more buses or trucks. Buildings were close enough to hop or leap across, a concept that was terrifying at first but something quickly grasped after several consecutive confidence-boosting landings. Some were rigged with planks or ladders placed over a wide space, or even ropes for swinging Tarzan-style. These people sounded awful, but at least they kept it exciting.

Then the wrong type of excitement hit.

The old, sopping wet plank was splitting right through the middle, but no one paid it any mind. It _looked_ sturdy enough, and life was made for risks. Wynonna’s wise words. Doc’s, too. No denying the way it worsened after each passing boot was unsettling, though. The thing eventually ripped apart, thrusting Nicole, Jeremy, and almost Waverly into the corralled body of water below.

Waverly called after Nicole, Dolls called after Jeremy. Nicole surfaced with a groan and a stream of swears, grumbling about her shit luck. Jeremy did the same, but in nicer language. They swam for the nearest, driest land they could find in the freezing, damp air, Nicole apologizing to Jeremy when she quit brief sea legs for land.

“What do we do?” Waverly asked, searching her colleagues for a solution. Any answer from anyone was acceptable.

“You guys go ahead. We’ll catch up!”

Jeremy said the one wrong answer. Waverly moved to join them, but Wynonna stopped her. All stopped seconds later, at the sight of four hunters running for Jeremy and Nicole. Nicole pushed him just in time for a bullet to fly rudely past through ghost of his former position, and simultaneously let off three blind shots. One guy was taken down. She rushed to cover inside the building next to her, first kicking in the cracked window. Jeremy followed.

Above, Rosita’s sniper was positioned to poke over the building’s ledge. Others joined her side, only Doc’s eye sharp enough to shoot without a scope as something more than a guess. Wynonna turned her back for a second, long enough for Waverly to slip away and down below with the aid of the water to break her fall. Wynonna screamed for her to abandon whatever dumb plan she had, but she spared no care. So, Wynonna jumped in after her. No way she’d lose a second sister. Not today. Not ever.

They managed an angle on the remaining three, taking down two while Rosita masterfully took one herself. There was enough time for Wynonna to smack her sister’s arm and yell at her for running off like that before the stolen tank tale revealed itself to be true. The Earps joined their two allies inside the buildings, commanding the three above to make a break for it as bullets rained as quick as the moist droplets from the sky.

They left this old shop, apparently a doctor’s office, and headed to an old mechanic’s across the street. They sat in the shop portion of the small building, where people used to empty their wallets just to get one new tire. Waverly remembered how Gus used to patch up punctures with duct tape and declare the thing good as new, how Curtis would grumble about how silly it looked but never dared change the thing. Certainly saved some. From under the wide windows they saw the tank ram through the alleyway just under size, scratching every inch of the vehicle’s sides. The car idled as the turret up top whirled around. Then they were off again, slowly. Thank God they were too lazy to actually leave the damn car and look on foot, in more detail.

But there was no time to breathe. Not yet. Clickers croaked and wailed in the garage next door, unable to leave the enclosed space and chase what they heard. The sight and sound brought the four to debate. They didn’t _have_ to extinguish these stragglers, but then they’d be open to surprises later.

It was agreed surprises weren’t needed or wanted, so Nicole eased the employee-only door to access the garage portion, some cars and trucks strung up for full repairs or finishing details, others waiting on the ground to be tended to. They’d wait a while. She and Wynonna entered first, looking around and assigning who’d take out who as hushed as possible. Jeremy and Waverly spread out, ready to cause a distraction elsewhere if someone slipped up. And lately _someone_ had been slipping up, constantly.

Waverly was never fond of hanging back, only getting to participate when split up and there was no other choice. But they had to do what worked, so for now she kept her mouth shut and kept an eye on her reckless sister. Even if a part of her knew they probably should’ve switched roles.

Sure enough, sneaking up on a Clicker, Wynonna accidentally kicked a stray tool. Her target gave off a small squeal, the odd, unsettling roars Clickers always let off, and moved for her. Both Nicole and Waverly silently threw other tools abandoned on the ground for the corner of the garage, and off the Clicker went to the new sound. Wynonna froze for a second, mentally damning herself for slipping up in a space so small. She was supposed to be keeping Waverly safe, damn it, not cause more trouble than she already did the second they set off on this challenge of a, essentially, road trip. Every mistake dug her doubt further into the earth. _Would_ they make it? Or would Waverly end up like Willa? The thought sent a brutal chill down her spine.

Then she found herself noting Nicole’s attentiveness, how she seemed to feel somewhat okay when things called for a split up and Waverly was left with the old cop. Nicole was brave. Nicole wanted to keep Waverly safe, too. There were those couple times Nicole threw logic out the window just to protect Waverly, namely with August Hamilton in the drug store with those shears. When Wynonna saw the two together she considered maybe she could worry less about her sister, because there was someone else who cared just as much as she did about protecting her. But then she remembered how Bobo and Willa were together—gross—and how Willa ended up dead anyway, nowhere near Bobo, but with Wynonna. In her head, Wynonna kicked herself again. She couldn’t be _that_ much of a screw up, getting _both_ sisters killed, could she? She felt slightly at ease knowing Nicole was around to help in her top priority of keeping her baby sister safe, but the dark clouds in her mind, just as the ones outside, loomed. She’d learned the hard way the unexpected could— _will_ hit, any time, without mercy. She hoped she’d be enough to fend it off.

When Nicole asked if she was alright, she responded by taking down the closest Clicker. Translated to _O_ _kay enough to keep going,_ so keep going they did, until every fungal creature was confirmed dead and no longer a threat.

“Sorry guys,” Wynonna said in the silence, words mostly projected for her sister. “I fucked up again.”

Nicole clapped her shoulder. “That’s no problem, Earp. At least you didn’t eat shit on a plank and fall into a pool of sky gunk.”

Wynonna gave an appreciative smile, one that earned Nicole a kiss on the cheek from Waverly. Then Wynonna’s smile turned into a fake gagging.

Using the floored cars as cover, they decided to change from their soaked clothes, rain or not. The feeling of wet socks wasn’t a feeling anyone could ever learn to cherish, in any world. Three of four of them groaned at the feeling of soaked contents resting in their backpacks, victims to the street lake they fell into. Nicole took the opportunity to brag, revealing how she wrapped her valuables and clothes in the blankets she stored in her bag, the thick fabric keeping everything mostly dry. Waverly and Jeremy felt silly, and Wynonna cursed at her.

Waverly and Nicole finished about the same time, and Waverly took the opportunity to try to return Nicole’s Stetson to her own head. The moment the crappy weather hit them she’d taken it off and plopped it on Waverly’s head. She claimed it was because she’s “a lady”. Waverly killed that smirk on her face with two words: Heart Breaker.

“But it’s yours,” Waverly protested. “It’s not your fault I’m unprepared.”

“Maybe I like the feeling of water pelting my head,” Nicole joked.

“But babe,” Waverly stepped closer, looking around before lowering her voice scandalously, “you look so hot with it.”

Nicole smirked. “I know I’m _Haught._ Says so on my driver’s license.” Waverly rolled her eyes. “Besides, it looks _way_ hotter on you.”

“Give me a fucking break, you two.”

They turned suddenly, watching the way Wynonna looked them over and fake gagged again.

“We have places to be,” she said again, “but we can spare ten minutes for you two to bang one out.” She smiled devilishly. “Unless the narc needs longer.”

“Next time I’m letting you get run over by the tank,” Waverly declared, walking for the door.

Wynonna called after her, “But you’d feel bad!”

-

Dolls, Doc, and Rosita were gone. They’d also have to stick to the streets for now, because, conveniently, they couldn’t find a way back up to the rooftops. No cars, trucks, ladders were present. They tried some of the taller multi-story buildings, but found staircases were either blocked off, missing completely, or dreadfully unstable. Nicole wasn’t allowed to check them, because Wynonna declared she was bad luck. Nicole didn’t protest; falling off of one thing today was enough already.

Then the tank raced back. At first they thought the drivers were still hunting them down, then they saw other travelers getting chased and eventually mauled with no mercy. The vehicle’s turret operator was cruel, not stopping after they dropped dead but once they deemed it was enough. Jeremy swore he saw one of the travelers’ arms split off and jerked his head away. They were in some bad shit. The sight inspired them to move from a walk to a fast walk to a light jog. Even Wynonna didn’t complain about the pace.

Finally, they came across a fire escape, the ladder still intact. Partially, anyhow. The tank’s roar hadn’t been heard the last few moments, but the team knew they didn’t exactly have the best luck with these things. Suddenly Nicole wasn’t the one with the shit luck. She wondered if it began to spread. Did they really need to worry about _two_ viruses?

“How could a metal ladder break in half like that?” Jeremy was asking as Nicole boosted Waverly to grab it. “It looks like someone ripped it apart!”

“Maybe someone got real hungry, man,” Wynonna joked, eyeing impatiently how Waverly’s fingers just barely grazed the item of interest.

“How could someone—”

“Take a joke.” Wynonna peered her cold eyes onto Jeremy. “Aren’t you the smart one?”

Before them, Nicole readjusted her grip on Waverly’s legs, one resting in her palms and the other on her shoulder. Waverly was twisted around at the waist, trying to grab the ladder where it rested mid-air, refusing to budge and unfold as far as it could with a missing length.

“Thank the heavens you’re light,” Nicole grunted. If she didn’t have Waverly toss her stuffed backpack aside this’d be worlds more agonizing. “Any luck?”

“None. I blame the hat! And genetics. Stupid Bobo and his stupid short family!”

Waverly surprised herself; she didn’t think she was in a place to joke about her ancestry. She wasn’t a hundred percent but cracking jokes meant she was getting somewhere. The thought made her want to reach down and kiss Nicole and thank her for being so supportive, for listening and always saying the right thing, but now didn’t seem the time. No way she would've gotten to this point alone.

“Let’s try something else.”

Nicole readjusted Waverly once again with a grunt, guiding her legs to rest completely on her shoulders. _Now_ she was truly thankful Waverly was a feather-light vegan. Anyone else might’ve crushed her shoulders to dust.

“Huh,” Wynonna started, gazing over from where she argued with Jeremy’s social awkwardness, “not a sex position I’ve tried. You lesbians are fuckin’ wild.”

Nicole would’ve laughed if not for the actual human standing fully on top of her. “ _Please_ tell me you have it,” she strained instead. She felt Waverly moving to stand on her tip-toes and held her legs more firmly. Felt Waverly's weight shift around as she tried to un-stick the folded ladder.

“No luck,” Waverly called.

“Can I launch you up, and you climb up?” she strained again. Maybe up top she could try kicking the thing free.

“What, am I too heavy now?”

“Babe, please—”

“No, I might slip off.” She patted the top of Nicole’s head, as if she didn’t already have her full attention. “Let me down easy, Heart Breaker.”

Nicole happily complied, easing Waverly back onto the ground. Her torso ached all over but she didn’t half-ass the movement, taking great care until Waverly was safely on the ground. Then she eagerly stretched out her shoulders and groaned, throwing her girlfriend a stern glare.

“You are _so_ gonna pay for that quip,” she promised. Waverly winked before reaching for her backpack.

“Alright, Haughtshot with the bulgy biceps,” Wynonna said, walking over. She stretched out her hands for Nicole to climb. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell your girlfriend.”

Nicole took a mock breath. “Thank God. She’d probably beat my ass down.”

“You’re both terrible,” Waverly said.

Jeremy tried to warn, “Hey, watch your—”

Nicole, who was focused on Waverly, hit her head against the ladder, which finally unstuck and slid down. She fumbled to catch it before it knocked into her again.

“Klutz,” Wynonna said as Nicole descended. “You’re a klutz.”

Nicole rubbed her head, throbbing something awful. “I hate this town. A lot.” Waverly kissed her on the cheek. Wynonna fake gagged again.

“Can we go now?” she asked. She stretched out her arms for another boost, because the ladder didn’t quite make it to the ground and wasn’t exactly a jumping distance, not even for Nicole. “You first, Weirdo Beardo.” She motioned Jeremy over.

“Why me?” he questioned, following her demands anyway.

“So we can make fun of you for never getting my jokes.”

“Maybe that’s because your jokes aren’t as great as you think,” Waverly fired back.

Nicole and Jeremy joined in with a unison, teasing _oooooo!_  but Wynonna wasn’t fazed.

“Never thought I’d be roasted by gays,” she said. “Is this that ‘gay agenda’ I’ve heard so much about?”

Waverly patted her sister’s shoulder as she moved to gain a boost, waiting until Jeremy finished on the ladder. He warned it was slippery, first. “Our final step is to assert our dominance through roasting.”

“So strap in,” Nicole added, “because we’ve won.”

“Take that, DAD!” Jeremy cheered, wagging a finger to the great beyond in the sky. Waverly giggled along as she climbed up to meet him.

“You’re all a buncha losers, you know that?” Wynonna asked. She motioned for Nicole to climb up next but Nicole insisted Wynonna go instead. “Don’t be stubborn, Haught.”

She defended, “I’m taller. I’ll find a box or something.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” She interlocked her own fingers, gesturing for Wynonna to assume the position. “Up ‘n at ‘em, Earp.”

“So chivalrous,” Wynonna mocked. “Is this an open relationship or an exclusive sort of thing?”

“She’s mine,” Waverly called, stern. “All mine.”

Nicole grinned along. “I’m spoken for. And a real lady stays loyal.”

“Huh,” Wynonna said as she climbed. “That’s cute. But lame. Hella lame.”

“Wynonna is a traveler,” Waverly teased. “In more ways than one.”

Wynonna smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Waverly looked to Nicole for her input, but Nicole only threw up her hands.

“In college, I was also a traveler.”

Waverly grimaced, “That’s right. ‘Heart Breaker’.” She nudged Jeremy. “At least we’re not players, right?” She paused. “Right?”

“Oh, right,” he answered, probably too quickly. “ _Right._ I’ve only had sex like, one and a half times.”

Wynonna tilted her head, curious. “Half?” Jeremy nodded. “ Do tell, Che—”

The sound of an overly large vehicle burning rubber stopped them all in their tracks. Nicole peeked around the corner of the alleyway only she occupied, the other three safely overhead.

“Tank!” she warned. “Tank! Run!”

Everyone but Waverly shook a leg. “Wait, what about you?”

“Go, I’ll be fine!”

Reluctantly, she obeyed, following Jeremy and Wynonna into the apartment this metal fixture latched onto for support. On the ground, Nicole’s eyes darted around at near light speed, feet trying to move as fast. The apartments on the ground floor had bars over windows or heavy furniture barricaded on the other side. No dumpsters or anything of use offered her aid to reach that fire escape above.

She ran the lengthy space between towering buildings and rounded the corner, delving further into the apartment complex and away from the killing machine on wheels behind her. More barricades. None of the doors were unlocked or bothered to budge when she kicked. The staircases were blocked from the top, definitely to keep Infected from breaking onto the above floors. People on the bottom must’ve gotten totally screwed, she imagined. She continued on, running between the buildings until freezing at the sight of an unkempt bush, leaves as curly and tangled as Jeremy’s hair. It sat next to the road, and she was perhaps too tall, but she swore she heard that damn tank whirling around to this side of the street now. So she hurled her backpack to an apartment’s front door—to avoid suspicion of a random backpack just hangin’ around—and hopped right in. She jammed her limbs, torso, head, long gun, everything between the thin branches, and prayed the whole thing wouldn’t fall apart. Prayed, for once, she’d have good luck.

She could hear the earth crunching below armored tires. The twisting of a turret on a squeaky, overused track, its human eyes searching coldly. The smooth-enough engine running without end. The squeak of brakes. A car door shutting. Her heart pounded in her throat and threatened to crack her ribs, a sickly feeling taking over her stomach.

She heard, “Keep your fucking window closed next ti—don’t put it back in your mouth!”

“I only have so many cigarettes left, man,” another responded. “Find anything? It’s fucking cold. Car has no heat. I wanna head back.”

“Sure, maybe you can take a nap on a cloud when we get home. Stop fucking whining. Let’s go. There’s nothing here.”

“They’re here somewhere. And separate now. Saw some on the rooftops, too.”

The first man sighed. “We’ll get them. Just as soon as you get your ass back on the wheel.”

“Pissy today. Want a smoke?”

“With you, I need a beer. Drive, moron!”

“Okay, fuck! Calm down.”

Nicole sighed and unclenched at the sound of the tank driving off. She peeked through the leaves just to be sure. She didn’t know if she should be relieved or feel a higher sense of urgency; the hunters lost them, but they were still on the lookout. They knew Dolls, Doc, and Rosita were on the rooftops, the rest on the ground. They probably had more boots searching for the three still doing amateur parkour across town. She cursed the plank again, then herself for walking across the stupid thing. She knew it looked unsteady, but she walked anyway, and here they were.

But there was no use dwelling on it. She yanked her hunting rifle from the tangled branches, retrieved her successfully invisible pack, and made for the staircase in front of her. She pulled the dressers piled in front of the walkway apart, far enough to squeeze through. She managed to find a couple apartments with windows free to break, and one even had the door swung open. She chose the open one, in case Infected prowled inside. Breaking a window wasn’t exactly a silent process. She found nothing inside and made her way back to the fire escape, uncharacteristically ignoring the scavenging rule the team set: always scavenge. Useful things were everywhere. But returning to the others was more important. Rushing out of this place was more important.

Waverly stood on the walkway of the fire escape, searching frantically for Nicole and breathing easy the second she saw her walking for them. She sprinted over with a kiss and a hug, then inspected Nicole for injuries. Wynonna clapped her shoulder and Jeremy threw in a friendly hug.

When they moved to climb up the rest of the structure to the roof, Nicole noticed Wynonna picked up a beer from the apartment she, Waverly, and Jeremy hid in. Waverly claimed spotting alcohol a mile away was Wynonna’s super power, meanwhile Jeremy gushed about the gaming setup he’d stumbled across. A brand new PC rested in front of three, attached HD screens, a copy of the newly-released game Outlast sitting on the desk. Jeremy longed to play it, but when the time came for release his wallet didn’t agree with him. Now, he’d probably push the poor installment aside; his life was a horror game now. He was sure he’d probably never touch the genre ever again.

Back on the rooftops they were, the bursting clouds above easing in their cries. The four voted to keep circling around until they found the missing three or signs of them. The search brought more hops and leaps and use of already laid out ropes, ladders, and planks. The planks Nicole inspected thoroughly. Not only did she want to avoid falling, but where they were now was more open and encased less mini-lakes. Meaning she’d fall to her doom. No way Nicole Haught was going down on a clumsy fall. She’d, according to Waverly, die from clogged arteries. She definitely preferred unhealthy eating habits over a painful _splat_ against the pavement.

Problem: one place to jump, nothing to cross with. The few places before didn’t call for assistance, and Nicole was starting to think these hunters were all the same, towering height. She and Wynonna made this bigger jump just fine. They had the legs for it. Their shorter partners, however, did not. They’d already tossed over their backpacks, but fear kept them both from jumping. Not that Waverly and Jeremy didn’t trust the two on the other side. They didn’t trust the wet, freezing rain flying down against them. One slip could end it, forever.

Wynonna convinced Jeremy to jump over by pulling his dead-but-stashed, battery-powered GameBoy from his backpack. She was joking when she guessed he had one. He didn’t believe she’d actually destroy it. Then she pulled out double A batteries from her own collection of items and threatened to throw them off the roof if he didn’t jump. If he _did_ jump, he’d get to keep the batteries and play a well-deserved session of whatever game was crammed in the thing. He jumped.

But Waverly was a little harder to sway. She was now learning she had a horrible fear of heights—provided the possibility of plummeting into certain doom was likely. Wynonna threatened to pour her beer down all of Waverly’s clothes and other personal effects, but her sister knew her well; she wouldn’t waste beer like that. She didn’t even throw it aside to make this ridiculous jump. Wynonna huffed, because she was right. When she threatened to kick Nicole, Waverly said Nicole would easily take her down. Wynonna huffed, because there was no way she was right. She could _totally_ take on a cop. She’d done it before.

“Stay there and I’ll make sure these hunter assholes eat you first!” Wynonna shouted across the gap.

“Not with your beer belly!” Waverly returned.

“Hey, excuse you, I’m fit as fuck!” She paused to smirk. “And fit _to_ fuck.”

Nicole rolled her eyes. “Come on, baby, you can’t stay there. Don’t you trust us?”

“Of course I trust you,” Waverly responded. She gestured to the dark clouds. “It’s the rain I don’t trust!”

“Right?” Wynonna said. “Stupid sky piss!” She raised both hands, flipping off the heavens. “Fuck off! I’m wearing leather!”

Jeremy silently agreed, because he hated the way the rain flattened his hair, longer curls dangling in his eyes. He’d kill for a haircut. Nicole could’ve joined into the rain hate, but more pressing matters were at hand.

“Wave,” she tried again, “we got you. Please, just jump!”

“You’ll bang Champ Hardy but you won’t jump?” Wynonna chimed. “And here I thought you were brave! Or maybe you were just that desperate to get s—”

“Don’t finish that sentence!” her sister stopped.

“Get some!” she ignored. Waverly tossed her a scowl. “Come over here and do something about it!”

“No, it’s okay. Not that big a problem!”

Wynonna’s mention of Champ brought a brilliant idea to Nicole. Well, she _hoped_ it was brilliant.

“If you don’t jump,” she called, “I’ll leave you for Rosita!”

Waverly froze. “What?”

“Yeah, Rosita! Love me a girl with a sharp eye!”

“Yeah, right! Rosita’s _so_ not your type!”

“What? Of course she’s my type! You don’t know my type!”

“You’re just saying that so I get mad and jump over!”

“Maybe. Maybe not!”

“You’re a terrible liar!”

“And you’re a terrible kisser! I bet Rosita’d—”

Nicole couldn’t finish, because Waverly was running then moving to a grand leap. Really? Terrible kisser? That’s what did it?

Despite the lack of warning she managed to catch Waverly by her outstretched arms, Wynonna rushing to aid in pulling her sister up. Though she could only manage half a helping job, because someone was opening the door to the roof. Two men poured in as Nicole pulled all of Waverly onto the damp stone, Wynonna letting off exactly two shots and taking them both out. Just in time for more to join in. Waverly cursed, blaming herself for them being caught. Nicole noticed.

“For the record,” she said from behind the air conditioning unit they all shared for cover, “I wouldn’t trade you for anyone. Especially Rosita.”

Waverly smiled, because she knew.

“So _am_ I a terrible kisser, then?”

Nicole grinned, dimples popping as they always did. “Oh _hell_ no.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know, possible fellow gamer nerd, I had to look up some of the bigger game releases around September 2013 (because for some reason I could not remember for the life of me) for that PC/Outlast line and whatnot, and I came to the realization gamers in this particular universe totally would've missed out on great games that weren't released until later, like The Wolf Among Us and the second season of the Telltale Walking Dead and Assassin's Creed IV. Like, holy shit, man. That's a travesty! A crime!


	16. Hunting the Wild-Spirited, Part Two: Run, Gun, and Don't Look Back

_Run! Go!_

_I don’t care! You have to go—It’s a fucking tank! We’ll meet up later!_

Of all the things they’d run into, all the times they’d split up forcefully, like now, Dolls hated this the most. Maybe it was because there wasn’t a god damn _tank_ any of those times, machine turret attached, loaded, ready. Maybe it was because he was hopping, leaping, and swinging across rooftops, a height enough to kill you or break all your bones, or both—he wasn’t certain. Maybe it was because his odds of surviving all this took a long dunk. A man he couldn’t bring himself to trust was present on his left and the fellow soldier he’d become fond of ran alongside his right. One good, one bad. Fitting; he’d either be mauled by a flurry of bullets or make it out of here—one good, one bad.

The tank forgot them and their aerial advantage, not forever but just for now, and chased after the four on the ground. Two were Earps, another a trustworthy and reliable ally, another a brother. Xavier Dolls loathed nothing more than to feel powerless. Useless. Cornered.

They ducked under a thick, stone guardrail, bullet holes beaten in on both sides of the poor thing. They weren’t the first to use rooftops to avoid the way the fallen structures and solid cars boxed in whole pools of rain water against sturdy buildings. If the bullet scarring wasn’t proof enough: lookouts ahead armed with scoped hunting rifles. Two posed as snipers for the area, two more watched their backs. By the looks of it, one of the spotters was about to be punched, the way he told crappy jokes that clearly agitated the others. A slight grin overcame Dolls; this man was a failed clone of Wynonna, trying the jokes but not sharing the way she managed to make not just Dolls but everyone laugh. Or smile, at least.

Dolls looked to his allies, Rosita splitting attention between what was ahead and was Dolls was saying, Doc not bothering to give the old soldier a wink of care.

“How many smoke bombs do you have?” Dolls whispered.

Rosita had her stock memorized and didn’t need to check to answer vaguely, “Enough.”

Dolls nodded. “I’ll head over. Doc, how’s your—”

Henry didn’t answer. Verbally. He instead shot up, far enough to aim uninterrupted, and released four, perfect headshots from his pair of Colts, a Lightning and a Thunderer. His speed was no joke, the perfect partnership for the superb aim his eyes were blessed with. Rosita admired the way the four men ahead fell in unison, sharing identical black third eyes jammed through the center of their foreheads. He made her aim look like Jeremy’s.

Dolls, on the other hand, wasn’t impressed. He shot up the same, preparing to shoot not bullets but words, Soldier Mode fluster and scowl to match.

“What the hell, man?” he demanded.

Doc barely gave a reaction, only staring back without a care and tucking his revolvers away. By know he was quite acquainted with Dolls’s distain for how he did things. Rosita was, too. She leaned against the stone rail and settled in; she could use a breather.

“Private, Corporal, General—whatever you are—”

“This ain’t funny, Henry.”

“If you spend all your time jibberin’ and jabberin’ scenarios,” Doc continued, as if never interrupted, “how will you ever take proper action?”

“I ‘jibber and jabber’ for the _sake_ of action. So no one gets killed. I don’t go in blind and alert everyone to my presence! People I can’t see!”

“But did you _look,_ is the question.”

“No, I planned to go the John Henry way and go in blind.”

“While you were flappin’ your gums, Colonel, I was lookin’. Everywhere.” He motioned for Dolls to take a second glance at the mess of bodies and blood a hop away. “It is a sniper’s nest, pointed at the start of town. Only one here for blocks and blocks and blocks. The men you so fear aren’t here, Lieutenant. They’re elsewhere, communicatin’ on radios, if you see fit to _look_ as I’ve asked of you.”

“Can you _prove_ there’s no one else here? No one else following the sound of four gunshots?”

“There’s a tank blastin' across town, what’s four more?” He noted Dolls’s gaping expression. And the bored way Rosita examined her nails. “Don’t you trust me, Xavier?”

“Not entirely,” Dolls admitted. Doc nodded.

“Sergeant, why would I try to get you killed? You are with me; you die, I die, Rosita dies.” Rosita heard her name, but didn’t bother to look up. She sort of listened. No way was she getting involved with this.

“Maybe not on purpose. Point is, we don’t take risks, Henry. We aren’t Bobo. We have less numbers, less ammo, less weapons. We plan. We talk. No one takes matters into their own hands and plays the hero because they thought they could handle it better. We work together, or not at all. Got it?”

“Sounds like an easy way to get killed.”

“Do it again and I’ll make sure you get killed.”

“May I take a second to remind you just how fast and just how well I shoot?”

Rosita stood with a groan. She _was_ getting involved in this. “Okay, big strong men, this has gone on long enough. Time to move on. Remember the others? On the ground? Probably being hounded by that tank? Probably looking for us?” She motioned onward. “I’m gonna find them. If your pissing contest is over, feel free to join me.”

The boys followed suit, Dolls wearing the same scowl and Doc wearing an impressed grin. His new team’s ladies spent no time with nonsense, and he loved that. Back with Bobo’s group they mostly argued, tore each other down, fought over dumb, pointless things. It was a nice change.

The four ahead carried two scoped hunting rifles, one pistol, and one automatic machine pistol. Not a bad haul. Dolls tucked away the bland pistol no different from his Glock and handed the automatic for Rosita to tuck away. Then he slung a third long gun over his shoulders, sitting with a gas-empty flamethrower and nearly empty assault rifle. Maybe here he’d get more assault ammo. But first he’d lose his partially regained cool, the way Doc refused the second rifle.

“I’d rather my pistols and knives,” he reasoned. “Or shall we have a vote otherwise?”

Rosita decided it was best to let the pure, red fury on Dolls’s face stay bottled and unspoken, slinging the thing over her own shoulder despite already having a sniper. She never cared for killing someone else’s spats, letting them argue to their heart’s content until it was resolved, but even she could admit this place was scary. Standing around arguing wasn’t helping them leave.

More hops, leaps, skips, swings, accidental slips, and swears later, Doc stopped them, pointing to one specific place. At first Dolls didn’t see it, until his eyes widened at the sight: Wynonna, Jeremy, Waverly, and Nicole doing the same as them, looking all around for danger or their allies. No wonder the tank seemed to let up, the echoes of war absent for a moment. Good and bad: it was busy searching.

If there was room to stop and look through the new gun’s scope Dolls would’ve, instead of succumbing to Doc’s updates. Right now the sound of the perfect clone of the real gunslinger was enough to set him on edge. On the move Doc’s unaltered sights could manage the scene of Nicole and Wynonna helping Jeremy over a wide jump, and calling for Waverly to do the same. The trio was currently faced with the same issue: nowhere close enough to jump. Doc reported she seemed unwilling, then a few minutes later she jumped. It must’ve been by surprise, the way Nicole didn’t seem to be expecting it and scrambled to help her along, Wynonna mirroring the same. But the help was short-lived, because two men opened the door to the roof from inside. Wynonna let off two shots, Jeremy ducked to cover, and Nicole helped Waverly along. More poured in. Dolls swore. They had to get over there—now.

The three inhaled mutual desperation in the air as Dolls creaked this roof’s own staircase entrance open, listening closely for inhabitants once the thing opened far enough. Doc wasn’t so careful. Doc knew he could live up to the fuss he was about to create, so he rushed inside and disposed of the four men ascending. More snipers with rifles, he guessed, blindly. Correctly; more scoped hunting rifles and one sniper proved him right, as did the new hoard of men filling the space, stomping up the metal stairs, blasting the loud echoes of boots and gunfire into the room.

Dolls snapped, “For fuck’s sake, Henry—”

“Do you want to get to the others or waste time sneakin’ around?”

“Fighting’s getting old, boys,” Rosita grumbled. She took charge now, motioning the two to follow her down the stairs, her Glock wasting away anything that moved.

-

Mechanic growling. The stolen tank was present, turret swiveling all around but not shooting. Searching. More and more seemed to pile into the building, an indication the missing four members of the team were putting up a strong fight. There was also a _Get those fuckers down from there now! They’re killing us!_  in case the situation couldn’t be pieced together.

Dolls didn’t have to beg Doc not to shoot, because, despite what he believed, Doc wasn’t stupid. Or nearly that reckless. Doc knew giving them away to a fully loaded machine turret plopped pretty on a tank meant instant death, a scoff afterwards, and returning to duty. They’d be wasted away like nothing, the only effort a bat of an eye.

The boys continued to follow Rosita, who lent an ear for Doc’s all-seeing eyes which warned of giveaways; if they were going to be spotted and mauled or if they could continue on undisturbed. Since the war machine was parked stubbornly in front of the building’s front entrance, a two-story office building rented out by a law firm, they opted to find the back entrance. But of course the damn thing was locked or barricaded so they needed to fit through a window on the side of the building, praying to any God still out there these people didn’t hear the window shatter when Dolls knocked the heavy flamethrower against it.

Inside, another group made a beeline for the stairs, hidden behind a door next to an out-of-order elevator. The elevator itself bulged from the wall before, creating a nice place to take cover around the corner it created to avoid detection. Here, Dolls proposed an out-there idea: they skip the stairs and instead climb to the second floor using the emergency hatch on the elevator. No one would be on the second floor, only running up the stairs for the roof, and they could get a jump with the element of surprise. This was the building’s one staircase, so they’d also have the entire hallway as cover.

Rosita and Doc liked the plan. The elevator doors were already partially forced open, far enough for them to slip inside. Dolls guessed something during the Outbreak caused a power outage and trapped people inside, or maybe these hunters thought it was worth searching for valuables. You never know when you’ll find a whole stash of food, weapons, and the cure to the Cordyceps virus in an elevator, right?

Dolls boosted Rosita through the hatch, then Doc, then the two pulled him up. They followed the same order climbing a ladder stuck to the wall before proceeding hurriedly to put their plan into motion. Dolls kicked the door open and ducked back along the frame while Doc surprised those within immediate reach with high-speed lead, flawless accuracy to match. The cowboy forced himself onward through the raving crowd, and Dolls helped dispose of those even John Henry couldn’t handle, mostly those not killed right away, stuck with agonizing gut shots or shoulder wounds. Rosita covered from behind, making excellent use of the hunting rifle slightly faster than her sniper, blasting those too close and using the scope for those down below the higher they climbed.

The first thing they heard when their own, friendly boots hit the thick, sturdy pavement of the blood-splattered roof wasn’t gunfire, but a threat, almost a rallying battle cry from their team’s walking sunshine: “Eat shit, shit-eaters!” Following her demands, Waverly blasted the rest of the hunters down with her trusted shotgun.

Tearful, cheery reunion was cut short. Rosita noticed a fully armored man wielding a Gatling gun of all things stomping up to them. Not the video game-style boss battle they could afford. They hopped a couple buildings over, something Wynonna explained they’d been trying to do but were too cornered to even try. On the second building Doc could see the man finally made it to the old roof, so they plunged inside the building they currently found themselves on and to the ground below, opposite the side of the main road to avoid the tank. The damn thing still hovered nearby, searching, waiting.

They weren’t sure how many buildings they passed, how many new blocks they entered and left. If the hunters were still following them, even. Pulses pounded the same for a while, and as soon as calm shimmered through the fear, heartbeats spiked again at the sight of two, identical women stepping out from a crappy old shop they passed without a second look. Clearly the women thought they were hunters, until they scanned the seven’s collective, spooked faces, carried by even the toughest of the lot.

“Come with us,” they both said, not as a demand or as a plea, but as a way of aid. Genuine, humane help. For once.

Normally they, Dolls mostly, would protest, make the two prove they weren’t dangerous, just to be safe. Not this time. This time they followed. Maybe these women appeared as blessings in comparison to what they’d just faced. Had been facing this week alone, the moment Wynonna urged everyone to forget Levi in that spore-riddled school gym, the moment they agreed to help Ambrose, the moment Bobo showed up, the moment Infected joined in, the moment Willa died, the moment they became face-to-face with hunters armed to the teeth with military weapons.

The concept was terrifying; looking at genuine, humane help as a trap. Making them prove they actually wanted to help. This was supposed to be like the movies: The zombies hit, humans push their differences aside, dispose of the zombies, and look dramatically to the horizon as some generic voiceover about restored hope and rebuilding and how they wouldn’t be the same and there was a long road to go played, then the credits roll. Overplayed song to match. They were supposed to be _different_ from those mindless zombies, yelling and killing and tearing everything apart for food because a disease gnawed away at their brains. Instead, humans split up. Stole food from those they were supposed to be protecting. Killed one another for ammo, clothes, valuables. Made plans to tear them apart for food. The line between the monsters and the humans was thinning. Humans did all consciously—the monsters didn’t know any better. Terrifying.

Perhaps they followed because they wanted to feel it again; the old world. Safe. Humane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one's kinda short, and honestly I planned for an early release mid-week but I got so dang sidetracked that just wasn't an option (meaning the rest of this arc would've been up by today). Next chapter's a bit longer and about the usual length and about halfway done (because I plowed through that bitch like two hours ago after consuming a questionable amount of soda--yeehaawww), so maybe that final part'll be up soon. Time will tell.


	17. Hunting the Wild-Spirited, Part Three: Heroes Are Dead - Long Live Heroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaayyyy guess who’s a day late again on the update! *finger guns* (This chapter sooo wasn’t supposed to be this long, holy hell)

Identical twins. Smugglers. Prepared. Not bad help.

They were Gretta and Mattie Perley, from the nearest settlement over, former big city now a protected and reliable quarantine zone with trustworthy-enough people in charge. The twins were smugglers and came into this hellhole of a town routinely to forage for goods, usually searching for specific demands. They gained hefty stacks of ration cards in return, sometimes gun upgrades, weapons, or supplies to make weapons. Some of those in the quarantine zone used to live in this rainy town, so sometimes the sisters found themselves going through abandoned homes in search of a child’s favorite teddy bear, an abandoned family picture, the engagement ring of a widowed pair. ‘ _Till death do us part . . ._ It only made sense the sisters had hideouts set up across the town, namely in sections they knew the locals never crossed because they’d already bled the place dry of all things worth taking. The hotel they currently led the shaking seven to was on the opposite part of town from the hunters’ main setup. Turns out the people who inhabited this dead town were turned away from the zone ahead when population hit its cap. They were deemed unworthy to save, some sick and most without children or wives or anyone living to call family. It was no surprise they stole from the military; they were stealing what they felt they were owed. They weren’t pursued because, once again, they were deemed unworthy of the effort. They weren’t even worth killing.

Gretta and Mattie rigged parts of this old hotel up, managing limited power and running water. Three rooms had working showers—no guarantee on hot water—and the twins offered some of their wealth over to their new allies. They didn’t want anything in return. Just genuine, humane people looking to help their own. It shouldn’t be so foreign, but it was.

Waverly wasted no time in pulling Nicole away. She’d whispered spine-tingling promises the moment the team pieced together they were to lay low in a hotel. Nicole originally groaned at the sight, because the last time she stayed in a fancy hotel she woke hungover with a wedding ring and new wife. Then Waverly started whispering, and all coherent thoughts and worries were lost.

The pair happily let their teammates snag first dibs on longed-for showers and snuck off. The Perleys warned not to close doors all the way, because some of the electronic locks would initiate and strand them. Didn’t step on their plans.

She had Nicole on her back, Stetson returned despite the awkward angle, jacket and flannel underneath popped open, hands and mouth exploring, learning, feeling, enjoying. Savoring, slowly. No rush. No Champ to urge straight to the finish line, forgetting intimacy for quick pleasure. Smiles. Gasps and giggles, because, turns out, Nicole was ticklish. Then they were lip-to-lip again, because Waverly claimed she had proving to do. Her tongue was snaking into the former cop’s mouth before she could assure the statement was a lie and nothing more. But Waverly was eager to prove, so who was she to stop her?

Not Wynonna or Dolls, that’s for sure.

Waverly stopped at the sound of the hurried steps and hushed disagreements about the newest team member. She sighed, because she felt another loud fight incoming. Meaning Wynonna would need some talking down. She tried to focus on Nicole again, but Nicole could feel the worry.

“Hey,” she stopped, propping herself up on her elbows, “we don’t have to do this now.”

Waverly sat back in Nicole’s lap, absently tracing patterns on her stomach. “When will we ever get—” Nicole giggled and involuntarily jumped at Waverly’s touch “—Sorry. When will we ever get another chance to do this?”

Nicole kissed Waverly’s stilled hand. “We _will_ get a chance. When the time’s right. But if you’re worried about your sister, you should worry about your sister. I get it.”

Waverly couldn’t fight a grin. “How did you get so sweet?”

“I met this pretty brunette—”

“Aw.”

“—and had a run with her blonde friend.”

Waverly swatted her stomach. Nicole only laughed.

“She was hot,” she added. “Stereotypically dumb, but _hot_.“ Waverly swatted her again. “But _terrible_ kisser. The worst. Uncomfortably bad.”

Waverly leaned forward, close enough for noses to bump, her free brown locks cascading all around. “Am I? A terrible kisser, I mean.”

“Eh,” Nicole shrugged, teasing. “I’ll run with it, though.”

She leaned up for a kiss but Waverly moved away, opting instead to tickle Nicole’s sensitive torso. Nicole giggled and fought to stop the sensation, but Waverly only continued, grinning and laughing devilishly. Finally Nicole managed to surge upwards, flip them, and pin Waverly down, who only continued laughing despite defeat.

“Say it!” she laughed, Nicole’s hands wrapped around her wrists to restrain weaponized fingers.

“You will be the death of me, Waverly Earp,” Nicole panted. Then she froze, wondering if the “Earp” situation was still a sensitive subject.

Waverly noticed. She grabbed the Stetson from where it fell on her left, placing it on her own head as best she could with the mattress interfering. Eventually she gave up and placed the thing back on Nicole.

“It’s fine, you know,” she said. “It hurts, yeah, but it’s fine.”

“You sure?” Nicole asked, eyes dancing with worry.

“Yes. I can accept it; not _totally_ freak out. I know there’s nothing I can do about it. The best I can do is wait for Mama to give me answers. Keep moving forward. You helped, you know.”

Nicole slipped off Waverly’s waist and to her side instead, where Waverly turned and brought them closer together, resting her head against Nicole’s neck.

“No way,” Nicole protested when they settled as one. “You’re strong on your own."

Waverly snorted. Nicole had no idea how wrong she was. If this was the old world, alone in the small, quiet, boring crowd of Purgatory, Waverly would’ve lost it a while ago. No way Ward would’ve answered her questions. Mama was still gone without a trace. Wynonna would still be in Europe. Willa would’ve only rubbed it in, never helpful, but always hurtful. Or maybe she’d brag, like knowing and withholding the information was such a grand thing. Champ would’ve half-listened, if she was so lucky, used her to get off, then turn in for the night. Nicole was wrong, and Waverly snorted because, if she found out on her own, she would’ve spiraled into self-destructive chaos. She wasn’t perfectly okay about this revelation, but she could think about it without making a scene, bursting into tears. Talk with someone instead of bottling everything up and exploding later. Someone who listened and cared. Maybe in the sense of pulling a trigger Waverly was strong. Alone, in her mind, leaping the long gaps of self-doubt, insecurity, she was bound to plunge into the abyss. But with Nicole . . .

Nicole was the helping hand on the other side, ears always open, patient, ready to help her along that far jump to sanity. Ready to keep her from plunging below, the right words to help push her to make the leap.

Alone, Waverly was fine. With Nicole, she was strong.

“No, Nicole,” she corrected. A kiss to the nose. “ _You_ make me strong.”

In the hall, two feet stomping burst their world. Wynonna called after Dolls, who didn’t stop, only marched onward. Waverly untangled herself from Nicole and moved to leave.

“And now,” she said, “I have to pass the kindness along.”

Nicole only grinned as she walked out.

-

The talk Wynonna and Dolls had wasn’t pretty. Or really a talk at all. More of a suppressed screaming match. If the doors could close, maybe they would’ve gone all out. But even with the control they latched onto, nothing about it was pretty, so perhaps closed doors would’ve worsened things to a grander scale, from ugly to hideous.

It started with Dolls’s opinion on Doc. “He’s only been with us six days,” he’d said about the cowboy, words bursting out of him the second they stopped in the room, “and already he’s proven too much trouble. If we want to continue this fun little adventure, he’s out. No more bullshit, showy, ‘I’m a gunslinger!’ nonsense.”

Wynonna wasn’t pleased with the direction this was taking. Doc was the walking, talking, breathing encyclopedia on all things Sanctuary. And she was gunning for Sanctuary with narrowed eyes and legs that wouldn’t break their sprint.

“This is _my_ ‘fun little adventure’, Dolls,” she shot back. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Dolls only persisted, “He’s dangerous, Wynonna. He’s going to get someone killed. I don’t care how flashy he is with guns, how good he is. He shoots unprovoked and blows our cover religiously and, while that might work for him, it’s going to screw someone else over. He’s out.”

Then Wynonna stopped him from leaving the room. They weren’t done, and he wasn’t winning.

“No," she persisted. "Doc is important to me. He knows about—”

“Do it for the trouble he’ll cause Waverly.”

She’d slapped his chest. “Waverly’s mine to worry about. I’m keeping Doc here _for_ her. Everything I do is _for_ her. So I don’t care if you agree with his ‘unorthodox’ methods. He’s staying. Deal with it.”

“I’m not staying if he’s putting Jeremy’s life at risk. It’s Doc or me.”

Wynonna lost her breath for a moment. An ultimatum? Then she lost her shock. If he wanted to leave, he could leave.

“Well Doc’s not going anywhere,” she said with crossed arms and eyes so serious they fell into an focused squint. “He’s too important to me and what I need for my sister. The one that isn’t in the god damn ground.”

Dolls didn’t blink. “Then we’re out.” Jeremy’s life, his _brother’s life,_ was simply too important. Even if he resonated with Wynonna’s reasoning. Wynonna’d only scoffed.

“And Doc’s not the team player? First sign of things straying from the Dolls, by-the-book way and you’re out? I’ve never been giddy about the idea of Jeremy and Waverly teaming up, either, Dolls, but I’ve never threatened to kick either of you out.”

Dolls’s head had titled in curiosity with a hint of growing rage slapped on top. “So there’s an issue with Jeremy, now? I insult your boy, you insult mine, is that it?”

“He can’t shoot straight. He can’t handle himself when things turn to shit—which is often. He’s clumsy as fuck and has gotten us spotted eight too many times by those faceless freaks. His only real skill is making bombs—something Rosita can also do no problem. And Jesus fucking Christ, he never shuts up! At least Doc can get me out of a jam, not your shitty little sidekick. Best he’ll do is get me killed.”

Dolls had wanted to say a million different things. How they were starting to feel less and less of a team and more like seven people who happened to be traveling in the same direction—back to square one, but less pleasant and way less happy, getting-to-know-each-other conversation. He could’ve stood up for Jeremy. _Don’t talk about him like that._ Or, _Insult Jeremy, you insult me._ Or continue on and really blow this disagreement to the sky, maybe cause the Perley sisters to change their minds about helping these yelling, screaming, cavepeople.

But he only shook his head, a distant sadness growing on him, and decided to quit this conflict with a whispered, “Okay.” Then he was out the door. The sight of him leaving, the way his face suddenly dropped, struck Wynonna like the bullets they’d been avoiding all day.

“Dolls, wait—”

But he was already gone by then, halfway down the hall and still shaking his head the same way Wynonna would if Dolls insulted Waverly the way she did Jeremy. Of course, she probably would've punched him first.

And now Waverly herself was poking her head in the doorway, her older sister by love and not blood flopping tiredly onto the small room’s only bed.

“Good fucking job, Earp,” she heard Wynonna grumble to herself. She knocked on the open door to make herself known. Wynonna’s head popped up at the sound.

“That sounded bad,” she said, quiet. Wynonna sat up.

“It’s fine. What’s up? You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just checking in.”

“I’m good. Why don’t you go rest up while you can? We’ll probably be going soon.”

Waverly stopped Wynonna as she headed for the door, still standing in the doorway. “That didn’t sound good,” she pressed. She hoped to finally get her sister to slow down, take a breath, and share just one talk this week. A _real_ talk, not an “I’m good” and leaving.

Wynonna sighed, “Look, we just had a little argument, alright? Everything’s okay.”

“It didn’t sound little,” Waverly pressed again. Wynonna sighed again.

“Dolls doesn’t like something here, I said something rude, he’s super pissed. Same old shit. We’ll be fine. Go get some rest. I’m hitting the showers.”

Brief as she’d been all week, Wynonna was off to fulfill her promise, exiting to locate Dolls. Waverly only stood and watched, knocking a knuckle against the door again, in defeat. She hung out for a second. She vowed, when they weren’t looking a city full of smartly-armed hunters in the face, to get Wynonna to finally sit down for two damn minutes and talk it all out. Talk about how she clearly wasn’t okay, just pushing her feelings over losing Willa aside and becoming so obsessed with this “Sanctuary” to the point it was frightening. Talk about how she was distancing herself from everyone but Doc while she fished and fished and fantasized and fantasized. Talk about Waverly’s ancestry, seeing how Wynonna uncharacteristically but also characteristically never bothered to sit down and ask Waverly how she felt about the whole deal, only reassured everything would be okay. Wynonna always had her back, before and now, but she was never the best at talking. Bless her, she tried, but sometimes it wasn’t enough. Waverly didn’t project her feelings. Push them aside. Forget them. They bottled up. Stacked in her head. Demanded to be felt. Demanded to be examined over and over and over and over in a horrible cycle of late-night sessions of staring at the ceiling and getting lost in a mental storm of overthinking until exhaustion hit and she fell into a restless sleep. It was a never-ending cycle and only piled on the more problems hit her and the less people she felt comfortable talking with.

If Nicole wasn’t here she would’ve gone absolutely mad.

She returned to her well-chosen partner, only missing her touch more and more every time, in the past six days, she had yet another failed interaction with Wynonna.

She stopped in the doorway again, not to knock to make herself known, but to smile. _Smile_ , not “smile” until a frown was appropriate again.

Nicole had fallen asleep waiting for Waverly to return, Stetson resting on her easy-breathing chest, not taking advantage of the running water despite the relief knowing she’d get to wash the smell of Crazy Hunter Town’s incessant rainfall off of her. It hadn’t stopped raining, but she _did_ fall into a pool of the stuff, and she insisted she was going to actually _die_ if the stench stayed on her any longer. Then one kiss turned into two, three . . .

-

The first thing Dolls saw in the Perley twins’ claimed room wasn’t the vast collection of _actual_ swords but Jeremy and Rosita, discussing a recent switch in weapons. She’d given him the scoped hunting rifle Doc refused and took the new shotgun Jeremy swiped in Ambrose’s town earlier this week. Jeremy had been trying to avoid using the thing altogether, after one pull of the trigger sent him flying. The whole ordeal only brought everyone to respect Waverly more. How she stood up to her beast of a firearm was a mystery. Rosita wondered if he’d be a good sniper; able to aim at a safe distance, in the calm, in a place where he could use his big brain to the fullest extent, instead of facing dangers upfront and in a swirling panic. Scope could help his lacking aim, too. Jeremy seemed to like the idea. Dolls did, too. He made sure to, honestly, assure Jeremy he’d make a great sniper.

The Perley twins introduced Dolls to the area’s layout, namely the routes they follow to return to their quarantine zone. Easiest way out of town. They suggested the team travel with them until they left this awful place. This way no one gets lost and no hunters can hunt. Dolls agreed for his people—though in the back of his mind he was beginning to believe they were becoming less and less his people. To him, he could only see his straining relationship with Wynonna since Willa died and Doc showed up; in reality everyone else was fine. Huddled in separate groups, but fine. Never had Dolls been so focused on one person, so focused on his own issues.

One problem about travel in this area: Infected lingered. Hunters let them be to keep soldiers out; the Cordyceps carriers formed a type of boundary between hunters’ territory and the quarantine zone, because the hunters corralled them this way with mostly-closed buildings and barricades. Both sides left the zombie knock-offs to keep each other out. Dangerous, on the military’s part; one slip up could cost the whole zone. Was gambling the lives of innocents worth it to stick it to a few, pathetic hunters?

-

Doc was apparently the only person who actually took advantage of the running water, everyone else taking a moment to breathe and relax, plan to try a new killing method, make out, or argue. First, of course, he used the working hair dryer to dry up his hat. Prized possessions and priorities and all that. When he left the shower he wasn’t expecting to find Wynonna Earp waiting for him, arms crossed and the look of a lecture in her cold eyes.

“Dolls hates you,” she said straight off.

Doc slicked his wet locks back and leaned against an empty dresser. Someone actually stole the TV right off it. Because, when the world’s ending, the first thing you do is steal and pawn. Or make a killer new entertainment system while boxing yourself in. If you’re stuck indoors, might as well have some luxury. _Forget food and weapons—grab the damn TV!_

“The feelin' is beginnin' to become mutual,” Doc laughed. “Send you to lecture me now, did he? And if you don’t work? Waverly next?”

“Well, if my sister tells you to do something, you should probably do it. She’s too smart to ignore.”

She didn’t realize how ironic her statement, given she’d pretty much been blowing Waverly off all week. She made her way from the middle of the room to rest against one of the two beds. Her feet were _killing_ her.

“Dolls is right, okay?" she continued. "Be a team player. I don’t care if it’s your thing or not. We aren’t Bobo. We’re different. All for one, one for all, and all that shit.”

“You tell your big bad soldier I am no criminal, and I should not be hounded as such. If I intended to cause any of you harm, I would’ve done so and been on my merry way.”

“Dolls means well. He just talks like an asshole. Constantly. It’s his thing.” She paused, then to the point, “He’s concerned with our safety. Everyone’s. He doesn’t always make the right call, but he worries for the right reason.”

“Another ‘leader’ shakin’ with paranoia.”

“We fight a lot, but deep down I’ll always trust him. Waverly trusts him. And I’d rather him than me in charge. I would’ve gotten us killed a _long_ time ago.”

Doc leaned off the dresser and took a seat next to Wynonna. He leaned in close, a hand placed to her thigh, “I disagree. I believe you’d make a fine leader.”

Wynonna laughed at the thought. “Really? Know how all this started? With me getting chased by cannibal shitheads. And leaving Waverly by herself. If Dolls and Jeremy didn’t find me I would’ve bled out; if Waverly didn’t find Nicole there’s no telling what would’ve happened to her.” She fell serious. “And just this week I killed Willa.”

“Like the Commander, your heart was in the right place.”

“My heart feels like shit.”

Doc gave a sympathetic smile.

-

Rosita left to occupy one of the working showers. Because nothing beat a freezing cold shower after a hard week in the freezing cold weather. Gretta and Mattie looked over a detailed list of their stock. Dolls examined their routes and copied them to his own map, just in case. Jeremy read one of his tucked-away Doctor Strange comics, until Dolls grabbed his attention and pulled him into the hall.

“Look,” the old soldier said, almost nervously, always unsure how to do this sort of thing, “I don’t say this enough, but I really value you as a member of this team.”

Jeremy gave a confused expression. Dolls _was_ giving off a probably-gonna-kick-you-out-now vibe. Compliments and soft moments weren’t exactly his thing, either.

He continued, “I know violence isn’t your thing— _real_ violence—so I wanted to say you’re doing a great job. I know it’s probably hard on you.” Dolls put an arm to his shoulder. “But I treasure your presence.”

“Why do I feel like you’re about to put me down or something?” Jeremy asked. The air was too awkward.

“I just—I don’t say it enough. That’s all.”

Jeremy looked him over. “You look really tense. Does your stomach hurt? Because I found some Pept—”

“No. My stomach’s fine. Just—”

“Fever?” Jeremy put a hand to Dolls’s head, who only stood there and took it, a dead expression falling over him. “You’re a little warm. Bundle up a little more.”

“I don’t have a fever.”

“Oh! It’s a headache, isn’t it? You get those sometimes.”

“I’m getting one right now.” He cleared his throat, first swatting Jeremy’s hand away. “I just had a little spat with Wynonna. That’s why I’m a little tense.”

“More tense than usual, you mean.” Dolls gave him a look. “What was it about?”

“Doc. I don’t trust him.”

“What? He’s Doc Holliday! Practically. He looks like him. And talks like him. And has a similar name. And dresses kind of like him. And his wife’s name was Kate. Besides, you can trust anyone with a ‘stache like that. I think I might grow one out, too—”

“Please don’t do that.”

“He’s a little shady, yeah, but I like him.” Dolls shot him a look, noting Jeremy’s dreamy expression and the rainbows in his voice. “I _trust_ him,” he clarified. “He’s too gorgeous to do evil.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“He’s good for Wynonna, at least. Shooting your sister can’t be easy. He gives her hope.”

“He is good for Wynonna. Socially. In the field he’ll get her killed. Or you. Or me.”

“I mess up all the time and I’m still here.”

Dolls recalled Wynonna’s earlier comments. How he could rant and rave with the fury they stung him with.

“Don’t say that,” he stopped.

“I do. He has to stay, Dolls. And I think he belongs with us. I can feel it in my groi—”

“Don’t finish that sentence, man.” He let out a long breath. “But if you really think so I guess I’ll give him another chance.” He stopped Jeremy’s incoming cheer with a raised hand, single finger poking up. “ _One_ more chance. That’s it. After that, he‘s out.”

Jeremy accepted, “Deal. Now go talk with Wynonna. And Doc. You guys can’t be fighting; we’re stronger together.”

Dolls couldn’t fight a grin, remembering all the close calls, the laughs, the arguments, the silly little details everyone told about themselves at meals. How it all overshadowed the dark times. “We are, aren’t we?”

“Better than the Fireflies, even.”

Dolls almost forgot about the Fireflies. How he and Jeremy were supposed to rejoin them one day and leave the group. Would they be able to do it? It was for the good of mankind, wasn’t it? They’d _have_ to.

“That’s up for debate,” he said, pushing all thoughts of Fireflies aside. That was for another time. He patted Jeremy’s shoulder. A silent, _Thank you._ “I’ll go talk to them.”

Jeremy called, “Good luck un-Dolls-ing the situation!”

Dolls pretended he didn’t hear that.

But soon it didn’t matter. He searched up and down the hall, starting where he and Wynonna argued. He passed by where Waverly and Nicole had been, now snuggled up together and fast asleep. He grinned small at the sight. After, more doors and empty rooms. Then his smile dropped, his hopes of once again patching up their strained relationship to continue this long journey with minimal awkwardness draining out of him. Because, through this occupied room’s cracked-open door, he saw Doc and Wynonna. Together. Not doing much talking.

So he didn’t, either.

-

They waited a good couple hours for the hunters to cool off their trail before heading back out. Spared enough time for everyone to use the facilities’ running water and limited power. Dolls explored the rest of the hotel, trying not to feel upset at the thought of Wynonna hooking up with Henry. It was none of his business, he knew, but it still bugged him like hell. He couldn’t pin why. Or maybe he didn’t want to explore why. Jeremy stuck to his comics. Wynonna and Doc did whatever they were doing alone, and Rosita bonded with their hosts over weapon talk. Turns out Gretta and Mattie had a real hand for smithing, and created functioning swords. Rosita declared it the most badass way to go about the apocalypse. Nicole revealed to Waverly, after they woke together, the two still alone, she still had her old phone with her. Charger, too. Nicole knew it was a useless tool now, but it was her phone. A relic of the old world. They shared the nostalgia of holding a now pointless smartphone, the way a touch screen magically responded to the swipe of a finger. How the thing could access the Internet, also a feature long lost with no one to possibly access it and no cell towers to _allow_ access. Nicole showed old pictures of her cat from before, an orange tabby by the name of Calamity Jane. Waverly laughed, because it was _so_ like Nicole to name her cat “Calamity Jane”. A brief pause for worry about the cat’s whereabouts ensued, until Waverly lightened the mood by grabbing the old world tech and adding pictures of them to it.

Then they were on the road again, asphalt slicked with downpour that refused to let up. The thick smell of rain, the muggy feel, the easing drizzle perfectly accompanied the usual loom of certain death. Gunfire was nonstop in the distance, also no different from usual. That’s what was so great about the countryside: silence. Not the unnerving kind, but the peaceful, meditate-for-hours kind. Lucky them, though; the hunters were focused on some other poor saps.

The Perley sisters were immensely kind. They knew where to avoid Infected. The right places to hide if hunters were spotted lazing around. Offered to help complete strangers for no other reason than helping them avoid being killed for food and loot by madmen. Meeting such people was surreal. And if such a thing was surreal, humanity might be doomed.

-

The street was as crowded as any other, cars scattered about in orderly chaos. Doors were flung open. Some bloodstains were splattered about the inside, forever embedded in expensive leather. Oddly, in some, it was actually a nice addition to the interior; the colors blended nicely. Couple corpses sat around, enjoying the gloomy day, rain rushing down on the slanted road to a traffic light below, no traffic whatsoever to guide. The scene was a mess but the twins navigated no problem, all protocol for them. This was their workplace, after all.

They stuck to the streets. Hunters didn’t linger this far, anyway. There was no point. Too far from home on the other side of town, too close to Infected they could only hope were sealed off well. The team followed the twins, who still chatted away with Rosita about blades. Dolls joined in, at Rosita’s invitation. She could sense he needed a distraction, if the way he awkwardly avoided Wynonna wasn’t telling enough. Wynonna stayed quiet, the sight of Dolls distancing himself anytime she roamed near him discouraging. Doc gave Jeremy, whose face soared levels past red, verbal shooting lessons about his new rifle. Waverly and Nicole teased him from afar.

They reached the end of an alleyway when everything died, instantly. Three men popped out from around the corner, where a gun found power over the nine of them with a touch to Mattie’s head. Gretta warned her not to walk ahead. She _always_ warned her sister not to walk ahead. Team Earp thought these men to be hunters, until Gretta greeted them dryly.

“Sam. Gary.” A breath. “Marty.”

Three men, bearded, two with hair longer than the third. Looked to be your everyday rednecks—with the shotguns, American flag bandanas, and spare tires to prove it.

“Nice to see you boys again,” Mattie added, not at all looking threatened despite Marty’s weapon ready to splatter her brain to bits. She looked amused, even, like she didn’t believe in their ability to kill, or believed hers was greater than theirs. They didn't even bother to restrain her. Her empty hands were up, she was at point blank with nowhere to run—good enough.

“Let her go.” Gretta wasn’t as amused. She gripped her firearm tight enough to make her knuckles go pale. She took the possibility of Mattie dying more seriously than Mattie did, always.

“Come on,” Dolls added, also aiming his Glock, “you’re outnumbered.”

“Oh, don’t mind them,” Mattie said again, a cocky grin to her face. “They’re only looking for a favor. A favor they need us for.” She shrugged. “More or less.” Her gaze changed from nowhere in particular to Sam, the trio’s leader. “We’ll reinstate our deal if you let me go. As promised.”

“So now you’re keeping promises?” The leader, Sam, asked, amused.

The third member, Gary, nodded in agreement to the query, clutching his round, bloody gut. Marty shoved the gun closer to Mattie’s head, his fingers twitching all about, nails black with grime.

“More clients?” Marty indicated the team, a crazed look in his eye, like he’d been staring at the sun far too long. To the seven he said, “You should leave. These two’ll only screw you over!” He shoved the gun harshly against the back of Mattie’s head again. Facing the team where she stood, she rolled her eyes. “Tell them what you did! How you left us! How you fucked us over!”

“Maybe it was because you’re a fucking dick,” Wynonna muttered.

Gretta complied, hoping it’d somehow help free her sister. Wynonna could sympathize; if someone had a gun to Waverly’s head she’d run into a herd of Clickers if it meant freeing her. “We first met them hiding in one of our safe houses. We were supposed to help them sneak into the zone with new identities. Leave the hunters. Start a new life. In exchange we’d get pills—the type people pay for.”

“Assholes don’t like deserters,” Marty explained, his crazed eyes darting all around. It made Waverly dizzy.

“But we weren’t stickin’ around,” Sam added. “They’re crazy. They take things too far.”

This was an Earps-ditch-Bobo situation.

Again Marty burst in his feral tone, “If these two didn’t fuck us over and break their word we would’ve made it out!”

“We broke our word,” Gretta bit, “because of _you!_ You’re irrational and we thought you’d get us killed!”

Dolls scratched his neck and eyed Doc, then Wynonna. Sudden moves threatening everyone’s lives—sensitive subject.

“Your breath isn’t so hot, either,” Mattie added. Marty and his black fingernails were too close for her taste.

“Now we have to go on foot,” Marty went on, “instead of using their car! We were caught! They’re already on our asses! We’ll die!”

The team was taken by surprise. A _car?_ They had a working car? Cars were an endangered species now; only the military and some Firefly groups had access to working ones. _Keeping_ them running was a different story. Did the Perleys steal from the military, too?

“And instead of running,” said Mattie again, “you’re here picking fights.” She turned her head to eye Marty. “Not very smart, are you?”

“We’ll do it.” Gretta piped up. “Just drop the damn gun and calm down! We’ll have to make a couple trips to get everyone over, but we can make it work.”

Mattie turned to Marty again. “Happy, shit-for-brains?”

“No!” he refused in his needlessly loud tone. He was practically shouting.

Sam finally stepped up. He tried to place a calming hand to Marty’s shoulder, but he was shrugged off. “They’ll do it. Come on, let her go.”

“No!” he refused again.

“Marty, damn it, they’re gaining on us! We need to leave now!”

Marty turned the gun on Gretta, but not before forcing Mattie in a restrictive chokehold, tight enough to hold her but do no damage.

“Give me the keys!” he hollered.

Gretta didn’t react. No one did. There wasn’t enough room to react, not without blowing everything to shit.

“Give me the car keys!”

Nothing. He shot a bullet into the air. Everyone jumped, pulses picked up. No way their pursuers missed that.

“KEYS!”

“Great Gaia, okay!” Gretta yanked the item in question from her pocket and tossed it over. Sam caught it no problem. “Now let her go.”

Marty only spat at her feet, walking off with a gun still at Mattie’s head, dragging her along—with trouble, because she fought back, hard. His colleagues followed silently, reluctantly, clearly not comfortable with carrying a hostage that’d only slow them down. Then he cackled, “Hunters’re coming.”

Gretta froze. Dolls and Rosita started looking for places to hide. Doc already found one. Or two. Nicole eyed the fire escape above, ladder fully intact.

 “Go, all of you!” Mattie called. “I’ll be fine; worry about _them_ , not me!”

“Where to, Mister Five-Star General?” Doc asked. Dolls only looked around. Nicole motioned Waverly over to the fire escape, who complied immediately.

“Have a thing for girls climbing all over you, Heart Breaker?” Waverly teased, mostly to relieve the tension in the air.

Nicole held her steady, extra careful with the downpour. It was slowing up before but now it started to pick up again. “Only when they’re light,” she quipped back.

“I’ll try not to hit my head.”

Nicole tried not to laugh. “I’ll drop you if you keep that up.”

Waverly easily unlatched the ladder, not a single head bumped, and left Nicole’s interlocked fingers. “No need,” she said. She motioned to the ladder. “Try not to fall, you klutz.”

“It’s bad luck,” she insisted, climbing up anyway. “Is it really wise to let the person with shit luck climb up first?”

“If you break it, we can plan around it easier. Not last minute.”

Nicole smiled when everything held up. “Not today, luck!”

The two shared a laugh, before realizing Gretta and Wynonna were running off to save Mattie. Gretta because Mattie was her sister and Wynonna because something pushed her to do it. Maybe it was because she understood the terror of a missing sister. She even, after a few steps, declared specifically she planned to help Gretta “get her sister back”. Dolls and Doc yelled after her. Waverly felt silly for not noticing right away. Wynonna yelled back for them to continue onward. Waverly wasn’t having it. She dislodged herself from the halfway point of the ladder, landing on the ground in a way that numbed her toes for a second before she ran off to join her sister, who was projecting the powerlessness of Willa’s death onto saving Mattie. Something pushed her to do it. Dolls, too, then Doc, then Nicole, then Jeremy, then Rosita.

They crossed the slim street, passed through another alleyway, and turned the corner. Mattie and the three trailer park mascots ran into hunters in a destroyed shopping center. They’d given themselves away trying to get Marty to leave Mattie behind. Suddenly they saw Sam kill Marty as he stood from cover to argue his case, waving his pistol all about. Gary and his red gut were abandoned on the street before, passed out from his injury. No way to help him now, with all the gunfire.

Wynonna chose to waste another bottle of alcohol, using it as a weapon instead of for drinking. She lit the thing ablaze, shouted for Mattie to take cover, and threw it at the crowd closing in. Gretta took down others with her pistol, a handmade scope sitting on the sights to make life easier.

Sam tried to run at the sight of the Perley sisters reuniting and Team Earp approaching the scene. He kept six people from lecturing Wynonna by running off, only to be shot down by more hunters running from down the street. Funny; if the three boys agreed to forgive the Perleys in the first place, they’d be alive and on the way to the quarantine zone, the fresh new start they craved ready to begin. Instead they chose revenge and would remain knocked against the concrete forever, blood spilling into little pools and mixing with rainwater, guts ready to be devoured by the first animal willing.

Mattie directed them to the only building with boarded windows. If they got inside the secure shop they could stand a chance, maybe even sneak off through the back and run off. But the door wasn’t in their favor. Something blocked it on the other side. It wasn’t locked—not after Mattie shot the lock off—but barricaded. It still budged open.

Explosion nearby. It would have to work. The Perleys, both small, squeezed in first. Then Rosita and Jeremy, who were both closest to the door, and Dolls. Dolls managed the thing further open, but only slightly. Waverly froze when it was her turn. The explosions were growing closer, as did the sight of that man from earlier, the one with the Gatling gun and full body armor. Pulses pounded harder. Someone yelled the explosions were coming from an RPG, and inside the building Rosita grabbed Jeremy and rushed onto the above floor to try to find him. Best time to test him as a sniper, he guessed. Dolls remained on the ground floor, where he used his own scoped hunting rifle to try to knock down the armored man.

Said Gatling Gun Man surged onward. He was nearing release of his weapon, the thing spinning some before rounds would spill out, until Dolls and Doc shot him simultaneously. He paused, but no other real bother. Like he’d stopped to laugh at their fruitless efforts. They were punching him with pillows, so Doc rounded him to get a better angle. Wynonna yelled for him to stop but he shouted something about taking the man out or providing a distraction, probably so everyone else could sneak off. She asked him to stop again. Nothing. So she ran after him to keep his sorry ass covered, making a note to smack him later for doing such a stupid thing.

She was stopped in her tracks by another, too-close miss by the RPG user. She swore and dove from view of gunfire. By the building the team sought to occupy, her sister moved to exit and rejoin the fray, fully intending to keep Wynonna alive and not blown up. Nicole was blocking her way, and in a panic she pushed Waverly all the way inside and shut the heavy door closed, Gatling Gun Man only growing closer with every blink, every beat of pounding hearts. She knew Waverly would only rush out to protect her sister—closer to the man with the weapon of war. She knew it wasn’t her place to make such a decision, but no way was she letting Waverly get herself killed. She took her girlfriend’s place at Wynonna’s side, who saw the whole thing and gave Nicole an appreciative clap on the shoulder. It was something that translated to _Thanks for saving my sister’s life._ It was something Nicole could appreciate in return, her nod a silent reply of _I got you, Earp_ as they both ducked behind a line of bricking that probably held up another shop in the past, both pulling their matching long guns and wasting rounds and rounds into incoming hunters.

The rest of their team, in the meantime, worked at the hidden man with the RPG and the barricaded door. When Nicole slammed it shut she pushed it slightly further before pulling it to a close, for the sake of momentum. Some items moved and fell against the door. Waverly called for Nicole, then swore, then cursed Nicole’s name, then cursed Wynonna’s name, then cursed Doc’s name as she worked to get the damn door open. Dolls didn’t waste time in helping her. The Perley twins hadn’t left, not even as the tank rolled onto the scene. They aimed guns through the tiny slits through the wooden planks nailed over windows, and above Rosita and Jeremy did the same. The second story windows had less boards covering the way, because it was the second story and only someone invested in parkour could really do damage here, climbing in and shooting whoever remained inside, camping in this crappy old antique shop rather than a home.

Jeremy was doing well so far. Of course he was still worried, but not as much as usual. Not as much as he’d be wielding a handgun, closer to the danger. Here it was calm. So far Rosita was right. Not to mention it was easier to stomach killing another human. He could look away. He didn’t have to hear that last yelp, the occasional gurgling of blood, the swears of pain, the final whimper before death took over, life leaving glimmering eyes. He felt a strange ease, freaking out less than he usually would when he saw Doc run for the Gatling Gun Man and Wynonna and Nicole stay out to help. As an aspiring scientist he’d always been more of a hands-on man. He didn’t think to hang at a distance. Turns out it was just what he needed.

Rosita would take out the RPG handler. Jeremy had no argument. She took a breath, hugged the sniper closer. He waited on a rooftop. Two others were with him, ordinary guns in hand. He stood boldly, not bothering to take cover. Who would stand up to the big guy with the big rocket launcher? She locked his circular head—resembling a circle so perfect it was unsettling—and pulled the trigger. Someone else must’ve shot at him, because he was already dodging a bullet when hers missed and hit the pole behind him. Immediately he found her now exposed location and blasted another rocket at the building. Rosita pushed Jeremy from the window and tried to dive herself, but when the explosive rocked against the building she was taken to the ground below. The blast was enough to take a good chunk of the second floor. Jeremy felt a rage in him, at the sight of his teammate almost taken from his life forever. He snapped his rifle upward, aimed in a flurry and shot right for the RPG’s owner. Then his jaw dropped.

“I got him! RPG down! I got him!”

Below, stuck in the rubble, Rosita gave a thumbs up.

“Not bad, _ñoño_ ,” she coughed. Mattie helped her to her feet, tossing stacks of stone, bricks, and wood aside.

Better yet: when Jeremy hit the second worst foe on the battlefield, the man was prepping another shot. He accidentally hit the trigger as he fell from the roof, dead, and the rocket knocked against the top of the tank. The vehicle’s driver, making a beeline for Wynonna and Nicole, swerved the vessel in a panic at the rocking. And now he stopped—because he had hit the Gatling Gun Man dead-on. Doc _actually_ cheered. He was right to, seeing as the man’s bullets were starting to catch up with his early-video-game-boss-battle-style strategy of running circles around the man, waiting for the right opportunity to shoot at sensitive spots in armor. Wynonna and Nicole were a big help in tagging the man, but he still mostly focused on Doc. The armor helped the blow but the person inside still skidded pathetically across the pavement.

Dolls was asking for a nail bomb. The RPG broke the top hatch of the tank off, the thing flopping lazily onto the ground like the lifeless piece of metal it was. Jeremy carefully tossed the thing down, and straight away Dolls ran outside. The turret operator regained focus and aimed for him, tailing his every step as he scurried to the side of a standing shop for safety. Rosita threw down a smoke bomb to blind the tank’s sights. Dolls ran across the way to another shop, moving from the tank’s left to its right. He peeked carefully over the corner, took a breath of faith, and threw the bomb. The turret’s eye didn’t see the thing, but he’d missed and it smacked and went off against the reinforced windshield. The driver retaliated by rushing for him, trying his best to push past the waves of cars between them.

The bomb and smoke bomb’s explosions grabbed a lot of attention, enough for Doc to continue in his mission and stick a knife into the back of the Gatling Gun Man’s unprotected neck. No time to celebrate—the man was smart enough to scream when he was hit, and the attention was back on Doc. Doc was never the attention type. More the stand-in-the-back-and-smoke type. So not his ideal situation. But Wynonna and Nicole still had him covered. It was the only reason they were outside: so they could stare the one-man army, a walking mini-tank, in the eyes. Hunters split attention between Doc and the two rifles, giving Doc enough room to snag the heavy machine gun from the dead man’s hands.

Meanwhile Waverly had convinced Jeremy to hand over another nail bomb, the last of his latest batch, and ran off. Rosita used more smoke bombs to keep her hidden, also finishing off her own batch, but Waverly stuck to the places no one was looking to. That’s how she managed to get the perfect angle on the truck, from the perfect distance, and landing the perfect throw that’d stick the bomb right inside the four-wheeled monster. The driver and turret operator were destroyed in their shared space, and again the vehicle was mishandled, until it was driven into a sturdy building and died as those controlling it.

Another pause in the war zone. The sight of a tank, a human tank, an asshole with an RPG, and the thought-to-be dominating side’s overwhelming odds dying instantly did that. A surprised, “Holy shitballs, I did it!” rang out, and heads spun to find Waverly where she stood, hidden in plain sight. No one reacted, because they could hear it. _It;_ the footsteps. Shrieking. Battle cries. The Perleys didn’t realize how far they went.

Infected on this side of town were contained by rubble and buildings with closed doors. Comically, they lacked the brain function to open a door. How could they fear creatures who couldn’t figure doors? They’d been running to find the noise a while now, and their presence wasn’t officially known until the noise finally died.

Gunfire resumed. Some hunters, stupidly, focused on the nine opposing them, others looked to the monsters with the capability to spread a brain-eating virus. It was crystal clear which one was scarier, yet still some chose the dumber of the two options.

Doc shrieked, “Jesus H. Christ!” and fumbled to get the Gatling gun spinning again, first falling backwards over a fat rock, eyes bulging from his head. Dolls kept him covered before he finally sprung back to his feet and got the gun rotating and spitting bullets like water from a fountain, drool from a baby’s mouth. Watching Doc’s back was the least he could do; the man planned to keep the armored foe with the Gatling gun at a distance so they could escape. Idiot just _had_ to keep playing hero.

Across the short way Nicole and Wynonna fell to the ground in unison, surprised by Runners despite their loud grunts of pain and rage. Peacemaker was pulled slowly and desperately from Wynonna’s hip, unnamed, bland hunting rifle escaping her grip. Nicole used her own long gun to keep her thin attacker at bay. She could easily overpower this creature, no longer a person but a monster with a person’s face, voice, arms, legs. They were tall, slim. Black hair. Dark brown eyes. Bronze skin. Nicole knew it wasn’t _her,_ because _she_ was lower on the west coast, where they lived and where Nicole unknowingly sent _her_ to a horrible death. Nicole doubted _she_ ever had the chance to _be_ Infected. It sounded more likely _she_ was torn apart, in the place _she_ was supposed prevent the spread of this awful, awful virus. It wasn’t _her_. Nicole knew it. She always knew it. Because, _she_ , Shae Pressman, _she_ was gone. She had to be gone. And still it was the same thing every time. Nicole was a cop second, wife first. Protect the people. Protect your family. She abandoned both. One made her stay up late at night—the thought of how many she could’ve saved—and the other haunted her. Taunted her. Made herself known when Runners and Stalkers with intact faces showed up. When a darker-skinned woman of _her_ exact resemblance in figure struck her down, hands pounding, breaking the skin of her lip and stripping away her ability to stay sane. Rendering her years of training and experience useless, leaving her to push uselessly at her attacker’s neck with a soaking wet rifle, only managing a fearful shudder instead of actually doing something she knew how to do.

Peacemaker blasted the nightmare away; brought peace. A friendly hand extended to Nicole, which she gripped with shaky fingers.

“Okay, Haught?” the voice’s owner, an equally-bruised—physically and mentally—partner asked.

“I’m good.” She visibly shuddered still. Wynonna gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Then, “Where’s Waverly?”

The sight of the Perley sisters entering the scene and impaling two Clickers with their real-life _swords_ paused their search momentarily. Then the pair re-examined their surroundings. Hunters were running off. Infected, as they always did, poured and poured no different from the rain above. Doc was backtracking to the building with the blocked door, the one he refused before, Dolls at his side and covering his back. Rosita making use of her new shotgun, after emptying the new machine pistol. Jeremy still, successfully, on the second floor of that building with the stuck door and gaping hole, sniping away at anything moving too close to his team. The sight made Wynonna feel even more like shit about what she’d said.

They’d inched closer to the Perleys, not just Nicole and Wynonna but Dolls, Doc, and Rosita as well. Waverly joined the scene visually, in Nicole’s sights. She ran from a trio of Clickers, a trio Nicole happily and easily did away with. No human faces to stop her. She’d taken them down faster than Wynonna. Another blow to Wynonna’s confidence, but one she could respect.

Jeremy hopped down and made a break for it with the others. Doc insisted again on joining them last, using the Gatling gun for every bullet it was worth. Then they were sprinting again, the way this always seemed to end, following the Perley twins’ lead to the working car they had waiting. Ironically the thing was parked safely under an old gas station, a half-sized smart car running on electricity, not gas. Saved a fortune in the old world, gas prices stuck at four dollars a gallon according to the sky-high sign.

The ride to the big city, the established, safe quarantine zone free of relentless Infected and relentless hunters was quiet. Long for those injured, injuries now beginning to surface with things calm. Everyone crammed into a tiny clown car wasn’t helping. Doc was certain he’d been shot, grazed at least. Rosita swore one of the pieces of rubble she fell on lodged itself into her organs. Waverly tried not to explode into a lecture at the sight of Wynonna and Nicole’s shared bruises.

-

The Perley sisters were open to helping the seven sneak into the zone. It wasn’t too bad; soldiers were nice enough, people were nice enough. Mostly, they’d hoped to work with the team more in the future. They “knew how to party”, the twins claimed. It’d also give them the chance to repay the huge debt they owed them, the way they helped Gretta save Mattie. The debt was far from paid the way the sisters helped the team along from the start, like the angels from Heaven they were—heroes in the dark, more like. But they insisted the seven have a decent place to stay for the night, the place the twins dropped them off now: an old garage they stayed at when soldiers lingered too close to their routes back into town. Those times they’d put off sneaking in, not willing to risk getting caught. If you left the zone, you were infected—whether you were bitten or not. And if you were Infected, the firing squad was your fate.

Later, after a long farewell, the team discovered stashed food, water, medical supplies, a working generator, and a heater. The garage was technically a part of town, but was cut off when the Infected they’d just met swarmed the place. The hunters accidentally led them away when they stole the military’s weapons, and leaving them to contain the threat later. Until they blew it all to shit chasing a mere three deserters. In a way, they were responsible for the team’s safe, restful sleep tonight inside the garage.

For some it was safe.

“I’ve got a mind to slap you both silly!” Waverly was threatening from gritted teeth, finishing on her sister’s cuts and moving to Nicole’s. The two were similar even in their injuries: cut lips, black eyes, and light bullet grazes across arms. She paused when Nicole winced as an alcohol pad stung her forearm. “You’re both so eager to jump into a fight, but the moment _this_ touches you, it’s tears and puppy-dog eyes!”

“Jesus kid,” Wynonna muttered, “where’s a small person like you keep all this rage?”

Nicole hissed again, jerking back slightly.

“Hold still and it won’t take so long,” Waverly warned. But Nicole hissed again, and Waverly paused again. Threw a menacing look.

“It hurts!” Nicole defended.

“I’d say you deserve it! Both of you! What the hell were you thinking, closing that door?” Nicole jerked back again. “Sit still, you big baby.”

“You’d make quite the nurse, baby girl,” Wynonna muttered again. Nicole laughed along, until another touch of the pad to her lip caused another jump.

“Look,” Waverly said again, “I know what you were trying to do. You closed the door to keep us safe. Keep me safe. You went to back Doc and his stupid choice. But no one’s better off if you’re both dead, you hear me? For the millionth time: we don't play the hero, we survive. No dumb decisions.”

“We panicked,” Nicole started. “We just wanted to—”

“I know you did. Doc was out there. But we’re a team, you guys. That means we’re all equals and we work _together,_ not separately. If not everyone could’ve made it, the door wouldn’t have been an option. I need you two to trust everyone, me especially, to stay safe. No more stepping up, no more running off. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they both answered.

“Now both of you, off to bed.”

Both women stood from the ground with a sigh, grabbing their things and sulking over to a designated spot. Across the way Rosita discovered bruising along her spine from how she fell. She muttered, _me vale madres,_ grabbed a beer, chugged it, and made a move to nod off for the evening. She _could_ have nodded off, if Jeremy weren’t hocked up on adrenaline and blabbering nonstop about what he’d done, how he undeniably saved some tails from RPG Man. In another part of the wide garage Dolls was tending to Doc’s wounds, a thin bullet lodged in his side. _His_ adrenaline died, so he felt the thing in full force. Luckily he had another beer stashed away, and Dolls had a bottle of the _strong_ painkillers waiting.

Dolls worked carefully to dislodge the tiny piece of metal, both men silent. It gave Dolls a moment to think. Doc stayed behind to take on Gatling Gun Man so they could escape safely. He was successful, too. He didn’t run off. He didn’t expect anything in return. Genuine human kindness.

“I’d like to start over,” Dolls offered. Doc took a long drink.

“I did not realize you were a shabby hand with stitchin'. But go on.”

“What?” Dolls paused. “No, not this. I read you wrong.” Doc snorted. “Really wrong, apparently.”

“Wrong as a dog in traffic.”

“What I said still stands, though: we’re a team and we stick together. We deal with assholes and Gatling guns together, not run right for them.”

“I can agree that was a shotty plan.” Doc gulped down the last of his drink, set the bottle aside. “I have come to understand your worry for everyone, and your outbursts are because you care. Teams and stickin' together are a new road for me, so do excuse my mishaps.”

“Just don’t do anything like that again. Wynonna—” Dolls paused a moment, trying not to think too much about what Wynonna and Doc had done together earlier. “Wynonna really cares for you. If you’re important to her, you’re important to me and this team. So if you do that again I’ll have no choice but to kick your ass.”

Doc laughed. Dolls grinned.

-

Jeremy’s lips were still flapping on and on, despite the fact Rosita _had_ nodded off as she intended long ago. His mind was racing too fast for him to stop. Until Wynonna walked up to him and asked him to.

“Shut up and let me have a word,” she said. He nodded excessively, again being stopped when Wynonna put two hands to his head. “I know we never, ever talk, but I need you to know I think you’re super useful around here. Especially today with the rifle—”

“I know, did you _see_ me?” Jeremy’s eyes were so wide Wynonna feared they’d plop right out. She wondered if she’d have to hold those in place, too. “I was like, _doo, doo, doo, BLAAAAAM!_ It was—”

“Yes,” she stopped again, “it was cool. Super cool. Look, I just wanted to thank you for having my sister’s back and keeping her company. And coming back for us that day, in Ambrose’s town. With the Bobo crap. It means a lot.” She added last minute, “And dealing with all this killing shit. I know it’s probably hard on you.” She clapped his shoulder. “Thanks, Jeremy. For everything.”

A calm seemed to have hit him, because his eyes returned to a normal size and he seemed to grow serious. “Yeah, no problem. You guys are great.”

Wynonna nodded, then patted both his shoulders. She said what she needed to say. “Now go to sleep or chill the hell out. It’s late.”

“Can do, Capt—” She shot him a look. “Right. Night, Wynonna.”

Dolls smiled as he packed up the medical kit; he overheard.

Afterwards Wynonna caught Doc before he could sneak out for a late night smoke.

“That was hella dumb,” she said. He laughed at her bluntness.

“A man must be free to run off and quench his foes,” he returned. She rolled her eyes.

“What, are you a knight now? Yell, ‘For honor!’ and run off to get killed?”

“If I feel like such, why not? A man should follow his dreams.”

“A man’s about to get punched in the gut. Look, I know Dolls has probably given you the we’re-a-team-who-sticks-together-talk, so I’ll skip it. Waverly just gave it to me and her girlfriend, so not in the mood. Just know if you pull something stupid like that again I’ll kick your ass with your own dumb hat.”

“My mama gave me this hat. Besides, you’re too late; Dolls has already made a reservation to kick my ass if I should chase another death wish.”

“You can get two ass kickings. This team doesn’t like heroes, Doc, don’t be one.” She caught a glimpse of Jeremy, reading a Doctor Strange comic and tapping his foot and drumming his fingers way too quickly. “Real-life heroes, anyway. No one’s ever going to leave you behind, so pulling shit like that’s only putting everyone else in more danger.”

“I’ve come to realize that. Anythin' else?”

She tugged his coat and winked, walking off as she remarked, “You look great in blue.”

-

Waverly waited by Wynonna’s thrown-together setup, resting near Dolls’s setup. But not _too_ near Dolls’s setup.

“I keep asking you if you’re okay and you don’t answer,” the younger of the two said, “so instead I’ll _tell_ you you’re not okay. You’re not okay!”

Wynonna crossed her arms. “What?”

“Almost a week ago you shot our sister. You haven’t eaten well, slept well, you’ve only really been talking to Doc and basically blowing me off. You went kind of crazy about Mattie, too.”

“Well, she didn’t deserve that. I couldn’t just let it happen. I haven’t been blowing you off, either.”

“Yes you have. For Doc.”

“I’m trying to learn more about it, Wave. About Sanctuary. For _you_.”

“That’s another thing! I’m worried you’re betting too much on it. I want to see Mama, too—I’ve missed her since I was _four_ —but I’m not sure Doc’s information is entirely trustworthy. I mean, he did something absolutely, incredibly brave today, but . . . I don’t know.”

“He wouldn’t lie about that.”

“His profession before was lying. He’s a gambler, remember? He cheated on his wife six times—twice with you! I just don’t want you staking everything on this. What if we get there and find nothing?”

Wynonna paused, considered Waverly. “You’re not worried about me, are you?”

“I’m always worried about you.”

She looked her sister over again. “No, we’re talking about something else here. You mentioned Mama.”

Waverly hesitated, “This isn’t about—”

“Yes it is. You want to ask her, don’t you?”

Waverly hesitated again. “Uh, hey, don’t change the subj—”

“You want to ask her, don’t you?”

Waverly’s head bowed, her voice quiet. This wasn't something she wanted to admit to Wynonna, for fear she’d be offended. “I have to know. I love you, Wynonna, and you’ll always be my family, but I have to know. I have to know about my own blood. Where I came from. Who I came from. Why they gave me up, why no one thought it’d be fun to tell me in the first place when clearly they knew. If I’m related to Bobo, why didn’t he take me in? She’s the only one who knows. If we get there and she’s not there, I _—_ God, I don’t know what I’ll do!”

Wynonna grabbed her hands, signs of spiraling into chaotic whirlwinds scattered about her face. “Hey, we’ll find it, okay? We _will_ find it. She’ll be there.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because all of this, everything we’ve done, can’t be for nothing. Because if we don’t have hope, something to believe in, we’ll go insane. You always told me to hold onto something worth fighting for. At first I thought it was you and only you. Turns out it’s this, too.” Her hands moved from Waverly’s hands to her shoulders. “This is real because it _has_ to be. Because we can’t let it be fake. Our family already has curse-level bad luck. We have to fight for this, because it’s worth it. You’ll get your answers, baby girl. I promise. The universe isn’t taking this away, too. It’ll be fine because it _has_ to be.” Waverly nodded. Then she laughed.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay, not get teary-eyed about the future.” Wynonna laughed with her. “You are okay, though? About Willa?”

“Okay enough. Are you?”

“ _You’re_ the one who cared about her.” Wynonna shot her a look. “What? She was the worst.”

“Hey, not helping.”

“Sorry.”

“I meant about family stuff. Blood doesn’t mean shit, Waverly. You know that, right?”

Waverly felt down again, forgetting every bit of progress she put towards not letting this whole thing bug her to hell. Something about saying it to Wynonna, the one she grew up with, made it difficult. Shameful, even, like she was letting her down somehow. “I’m not an Earp, Wynonna.” Her tone was defeated.

“Like hell you’re not. You’re my _sister._ We grew up together, we fought, we laughed, we cried. I don’t fucking _care_ who you came from. You’re my sister, and that means you’re an Earp. Got it?”

Waverly gave a weak smile. “Got it.”

Maybe it _did_ upset her; maybe she _didn’t_ fully accept it.

-

Waverly knew Nicole wasn’t asleep, because sleep was still far from her strong suit. But she snuck under their shared setup of pushed-together sleeping bags and piles of blankets anyway. Nicole started keeping extra once she learned Waverly was terrible with the cold. They were norther and it was winter now—she couldn’t let her girl freeze. They’d been sleeping together—literally _sleeping_ together—since the barn, the first day their relationship officially started. Maybe it was too soon, but it felt _right,_ having someone, something to hold onto. Something to make them feel safe. Waverly noticed Nicole seemed to be better rested ever since.

Waverly slipped onto her side of the setup, successfully failing to disturb Nicole, who really seemed to be sleeping. She made sure, following group protocol, her firearms were in arm’s reach before settling on her side. It didn’t matter if they were safe; always expect the unexpected, always be prepared. After a second Nicole rolled over and nuzzled into her neck, arms wrapping securely around Waverly’s waist. Waverly accepted with a hum, until suddenly her eyes popped open.

“Hey wait, I’m mad at you!” she said. Nicole only settled closer.

“Sure,” she challenged, running her nose along Waverly’s neck.

“I’m serious!” Waverly protested. Nicole knew she wasn’t so she started kissing feather-light down her neck. Suddenly Waverly turned to face her, a mock fury on her face, but her attention fell to Nicole’s fresh black eye. “Oh baby,” she laughed—she couldn’t help it, “your eye.” She lightly traced over it with her fingers.

“Do you still like me now that my eye’s ugly?”

Waverly gave the bruise a gentle peck. “I’ll always like you.” She jabbed Nicole’s uninjured shoulder. “Unless you keep doing dumb, very un-Nicole stuff.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. But I was serious, okay? No more. You’re smarter than running into certain death head-on.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Waverly kissed her on the forehead, then resettled on her back. She pulled Nicole over more, to rest across her right side, arm wrapped around her stomach, and returned her girlfriend’s head to lay against her neck. They moved into a new embrace, finally nodding off together.

-

Hours later, as usual, Nicole’s eyes popped open. Following this annoying schedule, she looked around to find everyone still asleep and the skies still pitch black, droplets sticking to the windows, gentle rains splashing outside. She sighed and settled closer into her and Waverly’s shared warmth, delighting in the sound of Waverly’s steady heartbeat pounding softly against her ear, Waverly’s arms still wrapped around her back.

“I thought you were done. Just look at you.”

Nicole sighed, groaning under her breath at the sight of Shae Pressman, once again unwelcomed and once again wearing that stupid, overconfident smile she wore. She just liked to make Nicole mad, Nicole guessed.

“Go away,” she whispered, panicking slightly when Waverly stirred. Quieter, she added, “You almost got me killed again today.”

“If you went in the building like you were supposed to, you wouldn’t have gotten face-to-face with a Runner. We agreed not to take dumb risks against your well-being. Do you know the definition of insanity?”

 _Yes,_ Nicole thought, _because you’re driving me insane._

“That’s supposed to be _her_ job.” Shae indicated Waverly with a nod.

“Get out of my head,” Nicole snapped. She froze when Waverly stirred again.

Shae took a seat on the ground next to the couple’s shared space, eyeing them up and down. “Oh, I wish I could. But you just won’t let me leave, will you?”

 _What?_ she thought again, unwilling to wake Waverly. _Of course I’d like you to leave!_

“She trusts you. That’s sweet.” Shae indicated Waverly with another nod. “She’s lovely when she sleeps, isn’t she?”

_Don’t look at her!_

“Oh, you know how I loved to look.”

_Why’re you here?_

“Why must you always ask that question? You know why.”

_Well, I’m not in the mood for another lecture._

“Then I’ll be brief. That eye of yours is the last time. You want to see where this goes, right? It’s new and exciting, after all. More than before, right?”

_These late night visits certainly remind me why we didn’t work._

“Make better choices, Nicole. That’s all I want to say. Frankly, I’d like to see this through, too.”

_Appreciate the consent. Now kindly—_

Waverly stirred again, eyes finally peeking open. Even in the total dark their eyes met, and Waverly stroked the back of Nicole’s neck. Nicole peeked behind her, only to see Shae was gone.

“Hey, you’re up. You okay? Are you in pain?”

“No, I’m fine,” Nicole assured, kissing her throat. “Go back to sleep, baby.”

Waverly’s eyes shut. “ _You_ go back to sleep,” she stubbornly retorted, nodding off a moment after. Nicole smiled. She _was_ lovely when she slept.

Nicole wanted to kick herself. She’d almost gotten herself killed. Deprived herself of the pleasure of getting to know Waverly Earp—whether she was Earp or Svane—and spend as much time with her as possible before their awful, awful world set in. What the hell was she thinking, closing that door? She wasn’t a hero. She couldn’t be. She was a rookie cop at best, another badge on the force. Not that the force existed anymore. She was a survivor first, and she needed to hold that title as long as possible, if not her herself then for the people around her. She had to be a good teammate. A good girlfriend. A good person, because there were so few left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got some family rolling into town this week so I can't guarantee an update this week, but I can promise I'll try.
> 
> On another note, we've reached my personal favorite part of this big ol' journey, the stuff I've been dying to get to, back to Wayhaught-centric stuff and lots and lots of fluff.


	18. Sylvan Dread, Part One: The Family Business

Blaring white, low visibility. Nature-sewn blankets for miles and miles. It was mid-winter now, with the snow and bone-piercing wind chill to prove it. They had an uneventful few weeks—not that the blizzard around them allowed much travel.

Backpacks were lighter now, the cold weather calling for layers. Nicole took advantage of the extra room to store another blanket for Waverly’s sake. Wynonna used her room to hold the fringed leather jacket she was so fond of, the one Willa had given her before the Outbreak. It should’ve been easy to toss aside, to erase the thing from sight and mind, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. In a way keeping it was a reminder of the good times they had as kids and teens, all those times they laughed, got into trouble, sometimes both. It was a reminder of the girl Willa Earp was, not the cold girl rotting on some sidewalk in some town.

On the other hand Wynonna made certain not to forget the sister she still had. Mostly she teased Waverly and Nicole’s relationship, and somewhere along the line developed a peculiar habit of walking in on them at the wrong time. Wynonna also resumed her and Dolls’s morning tradition of hunting together. The rift growing between them seemed to have healed just fine with time.

Dolls was beginning to find an even ground with Doc, and Doc with Dolls. Doc would respect the need for discretion and play the stealth game as necessary. When cover was blown and things got seedy, Dolls was the first person to cover Doc’s back as he expressed his unbeatable gunslinging skills to the fullest. Meanwhile the team gained extra, strong long range support from Jeremy, who was truly proving himself as a sniper. He was more than pleased, not just because of how he aided his mates but because Doc was giving him pointers and full-on lessons. Long lessons. He could find worse things to do with his time.

Annoying blizzard and occasional cabin fever on tough days forcing them to shelter, the seven were stronger than ever.

-

“Shoot him.”

He fought hard to focus, to stay quiet, calm, not let the chill throw off his aim. His stomach growled something fierce. His toes froze, boots buried in a fistful of snow. He wiggled them uncomfortably.

“Shoot him right in his fuckin’ face.”

He readjusted the rifle, reconsidered where he aimed. Was he angled too high?

“I am so god damn hungry, man. Please pull the trigger.”

“Well,” he said, hushed, “if you’re saying please . . .”

Dolls tugged the trigger back, let the rifle kick his shoulder, and watched the deer before them collapse, dead, white under its feet painting with red. Wynonna smiled and backed off from where she crouched with him, her voice rigging a homely obnoxious in his ears.

“Huh,” she breathed. “Maybe nice girls _do_ get everything.”

The pair stood, abandoning all quiet and walking right for their dead breakfast. No need to be careful anymore.

“Gonna start saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ now, Earp?” Dolls laughed.

Her face twisted sour, “Oh god no. Last time Nicole said ‘please’ to me I almost took her down. Like, chill out dude, I know you’re bangin’ my sister. No need to make it weird with the manners. What’re we, British? Don’t be a douche, right?” Dolls gave her a look. “What? It’s 2020, man. It’s chill, no one talks like that.” She froze. Dolls raised his rifle in worry, but her eyes glowed with excitement. “It’s 2020! That’s some futuristic shit! Literally!”

“2021,” he grinned.

“What?”

“It’s 2021. Year just changed.”

“What? No fucking way!” She bumped his shoulder. “Don’t mess with me.”

“Beginning of this month?” She had a dead expression. “That’s what the drinking was about?” he tried again.

“Okay, me and Henry drink _a lot._  You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Everyone yelled, ‘Happy New Year’?”

She considered, then frowned. “Not ringin’ any bells.” Dolls shook his head, smiling.

“You worry me someti—”

His rifle left his shoulder again at the sound of a twig snapping. His smile cracked and underneath the typical Xavier Dolls Soldier Mode scowl returned. Wynonna didn’t blink; it was the fourth time Dolls had done so since they re-entered the woods. They’d been here a few days now, waiting out the blizzard in a gas station to move on. No other buildings for miles. Just nature and the lone road. She let him worry for a second before swatting the barrel for him to lower the weapon.

“What is it with you and the woods, huh?” she asked.

Dolls re-shouldered his rifle and continued back to their kill. “I just don’t like it.” She motioned for more, unsatisfied. “They creep me out.” She shot another unsatisfied glance. “I’ve had a bad experience in them, is all.”

“So why don’t you take a break? Doc can handle this.”

Dolls was surprised she didn’t press for more. Wynonna _always_ pressed for more, until she had every detail. But she knew he was a soldier in the past, with dozens of tales unknown to her. She assumed “bad experience” meant war related “oh-shit-I-almost-died-now-I’m-traumatized”, and she wasn’t willing to push something so horrid, the same way he wouldn’t demand more details of Willa or how it felt to shoot her father—as awful as Ward was.

“No thanks,” Dolls chuckled, “I don’t want tobacco all over my deer. How many cigarettes does the guy have, anyway? He’s a walking chimney.”

“Gotta admire his dedication; when he wants something, he commits.”

-

“It’s too early," Waverly grumbled for the fourth time this morning. For the fourth time this morning Nicole grinned, playfully.

The mornings were all they had. Wynonna used to share a tent with Dolls and Jeremy. But recently she’d switched—not _just_ because she promised to get better with communication—because this was the new set up. Jeremy and Dolls shared one, where Dolls pretended he couldn’t hear the mashing of GameBoy buttons hours into the night. Rosita and Doc shared Doc’s personal tent, where Wynonna pretended the two were only getting closer outside the quarters by convenience and not because they shared a space and long, _cold_ nights. She distracted herself often to escape those thoughts, as much as Henry drove her crazy and even with their hook up. Hook up they’d never discussed or looked back on. All of these distractions consisted of mocking how Nicole and Waverly spent their time sleeping together literally and not _sleeping together._

But Wynonna wasn’t here in the morning. She was out hunting with Dolls, distracting herself from the reality around them by messing with _him_ all morning. Waverly was no morning person, but she knew it was their only real time to talk, kiss, tease . . .

Except for today. The tent was zipped shut but she could feel the chill from here. And frankly she didn’t want to get up today. She’d lost track but she was sure it was Monday blues or Sunday laziness. There was no argument strong enough to convince her to leave Nicole Haught’s warm embrace. If Bobo Del Rey walked through that tent flap, sticking a shotgun in her face, she’d probably tell him to come back tomorrow and fall back into a deep sleep.

“They’re back from hunting,” Nicole whispered into her ear where they spooned under a mountain of blankets. Waverly only grunted stubbornly in protest. “Remember the last time she woke us up?”

“I’ll throw a boot at her,” Waverly grumbled again, eyes shut. Nicole grinned into her neck a fifth time.

“You’re terrible, you know.”

Waverly smiled; Nicole admitted defeat.

-

The couple didn’t have to worry; Wynonna was outside, dealing into a poker game with Rosita and Jeremy. At first Rosita didn’t care much for the game, then it grew on her. Not much else to do. Wynonna worried she might even be addicted, after that long winning streak early in her career. Now she wore a crazy expression with every hand. Across the way Doc and Dolls cleaned and cooked the morning’s feast. Everyone bonded in their own ways.

Today Doc revealed, in sync with Wynonna, his concern for Dolls’s uneasiness with the woods. Again Dolls said he had a bad experience in the environment, and like Wynonna Doc assumed it was war related and let it be. Only, he voiced his decision to leave it.

“Well, Captain,” he said, ripping meat from a bone and letting the blood run a moment before setting it aside, “it is your business, so I shall keep it your business.”

“What a gentleman,” Dolls snorted.

“So I’ve heard, Sergeant.”

Dolls looked to him instead of the portion of carcass between his fingers. “Man, you gotta stop calling me that.”

“What? A man’s title should be respected. Even if his title is an unannounced mystery.”

“Just—Xavier. Call me Xavier.” His focus returned to the task, after a shake of his head and another snort.

“And here I assumed ‘Dolls’ was a cooky first name, the way you use it.” Doc paused. “Why _don’t_ you go by Xavier?”

“It feels too personal.”

“I thought we trusted each other here.”

“We do.” He thought it over. “It’s more of a _me_ issue.”

“So you fear the woods and intimate delicacies, is that it?”

“I guess,” Dolls shrugged.

“I can see that; gettin' close to someone, especially in these, the darkest of times, can be difficult.”

“Weren’t you married?” Dolls snorted. It sounded ironic.

“Marriage is never black and white.”

“I guess that’s true. Nicole _did_ have a alcohol-driven Vegas marriage.”

“But you trust us,” he nodded respectfully, “Xavier. That’s enough for me. I am not interested in whichever name you decide to use.”

Dolls looked him in the eye. Easy, now that his share was skinned, cleaned, and ready to cook. “I’m really glad you joined us.”

“Sweet talkin’s all it took?”

The two men shared a laugh as their breakfast heated in warmth delivered not by the sun but by a cheap, controlled replica.

-

Odd. Out of character. Frightening, cause for concern.

Breakfast had been served and consumed. Plans were made to move along as far as this blizzard would allow, and put into motion. They were still following the asphalt buried beneath feet of snow. They passed a gas station long ago, then a lone, roadside motel and diner, and stopped at another gas station. Lately it’d been the most common rest stop. Lunch was leftover, reheated breakfast. Dolls had some Tupperware stored away for such a use. By now, stretching over noon, the blizzard picked up and they were forced to make camp after a mile or two. Visibility was a myth. Warmth without fire was a myth. Then things eased a bit again. Dolls left to use the restroom. He didn’t return. The winds calmed; he should’ve been able to follow his own tracks. It was odd; no one else could be here—there was nothing here. Just the road and some trees, occasional roadside business once clinging to dear life to the dollars of tourists. It was out of character; if Dolls discovered something he’d tell everyone else so they didn’t worry the way they were now. Frightening, cause for concern; they didn’t know what the woods held. Or anything really; they couldn’t see much.

So Wynonna and Doc trekked back into the cold and on their unofficial leader’s trail to unravel the needless mystery. Doc was the talented tracker, but Wynonna rushed ahead of him, stopping at the sight of Dolls’s abandoned gun and holster, ammo missing. She scooped the half-buried items and presented them to Doc, her eyes wide and jaw gaping.

“Holy Murder Forest Part Two!”

Then they were back at the camp, Wynonna repeating the same expressions and same words. Then a thrown-together conspiracy of how they were being stalked, how the people prowling the woods surrounding Bobo and Lou’s turf somehow resurrected and decided, of all things, to follow them for revenge.

“Real life zombies!” she said, hushed, like said zombies could hear her. And as if they already didn’t _have_ another zombie situation.

“Wait,” Waverly cleared up, “Dolls is missing, is what you’re saying?”

Wynonna wagged the empty holster and empty gun in the air. “Yes! Here’s your proof!”

“Well,” Jeremy tried, a tired look to his eyes from hours spent playing games at night instead of sleeping, “he said he needed to pee. I’m sure he’ll be back.”

Wynonna waved the gear again. “Why would he leave this behind, Jeremy?” He shrugged. Wynonna’s raised arms fell. “That’s enough outta you.”

“Okay,” Nicole chimed, “so what’re we doing about it?”

Doc repeated, “There were more tracks. Signs of a struggle.”

Wynonna nodded, “Right. So you guys wait here while I follow—”

“No! No way!” Waverly stopped, stepping from where she embraced Nicole’s side. “First rule of Murder Forest: don’t split up!”

Nicole grinned. She recalled when she and Waverly first met, when she said something similar to her future girlfriend. Back then Wynonna was missing. That was the day they met Dolls and Jeremy and found who they sought. That day, this big adventure began.

“ ‘Cause then you get murdered,” Nicole added just as Waverly did in the past. Waverly remembered and smiled the same. Wynonna caught on and shot them both a look.

“I get the feeling—” she said, crossing her arms “—that’s some sort of gross girlfriend code, so I’ll politely tell you both I hate it and you’re gross. Now pack this shit up, we’ve got a stone-faced asshole to find.”

-

Tracks led back to the motel, a perfect fit given the track record motels had for being creepy or haunted. Always use horror movies as reference when your life _becomes_ a horror movie. Wynonna’s philosophy. The thing was half-covered by the weather, which was kind enough to pick up again—a moody storm with shit timing. What a day this was turning out to be. It’d be safe to assume a motel-diner in the middle of nowhere would be the cleanest place on the map, in a different, innocent world from the End Times surrounding. But, of course, that wasn’t the case. The attached diner’s windows were cracked or broken, chairs tossed about the inside. Front door broken off the hinge. The chef’s window behind the counter was splattered with blood. The counter was a mess of glass and bullet shells. Snow trickled in from outside and covered up dust. Was this like Purgatory’s Outbreak? Did someone who was afflicted travel out and turn at the wrong moment—as If there was a _right_ moment—and end it for everyone here?

The sight of what the kitchen held buried this theory in the snowfall outside. The single chef window wasn’t exclusive to blood splatters; the stains were everywhere. Fresh, according to the master tracker, the two scientists, the cop, the historian who’d seen some things, and the wanderer who’d caused some things. Absolutely no way it wasn’t. No one paid the splatters much mind, though, not after seeing half-carved corpses—deer, bunnies, humans. _Humans_. Someone lives here, no doubt. And someone was willing to do what it took to survive. That included adding their friend to the menu.

Guns left pockets. Eyes became half-obscured with gun sights. Freezing hands, some gloved, gripped firearms tightly. Thoughtless, natural walking turned strategic, calculated, ready to adjust to any sudden moves.

Diner was clear. They checked the extensive line of rooms next. This roadside motel was small, one-story. Not much to sift through. So at least one thing was on their side today. Hopefully they could splurge for two.

Every single room entered, through the door or window because a door was locked, was clear. It should’ve been a relief, but it was more unsettling than anything else. Someone lived here, definitely. So where were they? And where was Dolls? None of those corpses belonged to a person of color. Did he escape? Was he looking for them now, at the camp they’d packed up? There were no tracks in the snow indicating so. Did they put themselves more at risk by coming out here to find him in the first place?

The motel’s lobby, a place even a mouse might find too small, was the last place to check. It was attached to the diner but the connecting door was barricaded on both sides. Curious. Whoever ran this place _had_ to live here. Or at least spent a lot of time here. Likely they cut off one entrance to prevent sneaking in; they could always have an eye on the only way in. Weapons were hung on a wall, from shined and sharpened daggers to butcher’s knives to empty firearms (they’d checked all guns themselves; no ammo in any). The missing clip to Dolls’s Glock was placed on a small table near a stack of handguns. These were empty, as well. Dolls’s ammo seemed to be all this person had. Maybe they’d be easy to handle. Wynonna happily snatched the thing and reloaded her ally’s weapon for him. She stubbornly carried all of his things; a second backpack over her shoulder, all three of his long guns also, somehow, over her shoulders, his holster, and his empty gun. She wanted to start calling out for him, learn where he was stashed away, but she feared this place’s owner might arrive, too, with a rage to match. So for now she let her hands shake anxiously and searched with a quickened, desperate pace. She only, finally, stopped when she opened a thin closet door and something, a trap, came flying out of it. Knife trap. She yelled for everyone to get down as three daggers flung out with the help of a spring system and zoomed by her face as she turned from the way and back into the lobby. Second thing on their side today: no one was hurt.

No sounds followed, including a follow-up missed-you-try-again trap. All that was left behind was a bookshelf on the other side of the door, stretching from floor to ceiling. Or somewhere near it. Enough to prevent inspection of what was behind it. Certainly suspicious. But before Wynonna could try to move the whole thing herself the chill of outdoors reached inside. She turned with her colleagues to find a man in the entrance’s doorway, bundled up in lighter attire with a bandana over his red face and Stetson perched on his head, same shade as Doc’s. He raised a thick butcher knife into the air, ignoring the power of six guns already trailed on him. When you’re trying to scare someone, you should always act tough. Doesn’t matter what crappy weapon you have.

Wynonna quipped, “Place has plenty of vacancies, no need to fight to the death for a room.” She laughed to herself. “Like that shitty hotel I stayed at in Monaco.” She shook her head. “What a great place, Monaco.”

The person in the doorway threw the knife at no one in particular before scurrying off. Wynonna said something about how Monaco wasn’t _that_ bad before chasing after him. Anyone who runs has answers, and answers meant finding Dolls before death could.

Wynonna, Doc, and Rosita made it out into the snow, visibility beginning to die again and winds picking up with faithfully cruel timing. Nicole, Waverly, and Jeremy trailed behind, until the only exit suddenly slammed shut and into Nicole, who stumbled backwards and knocked into Waverly and Jeremy. Jeremy saw a second person outside, the one responsible for closing the door. Then they ran off to chase the others while the three were stranded inside. Nicole immediately got to work on the door, locked now. She kicked it, rammed her shoulder into it, beat the lock with her gun, until a hand urged her to turn around, just as she planned to shoot the thing open. It was the last option because she was already so low on bullets.

Emerging from the blocked room, moving the bookshelf to squeeze past like it was nothing before shutting the suspicious door, was a third resident of this motel-diner. She was bigger, older, and gave no hints of the classic friendly old lady with treats to give from her purse. The trio knew she wanted to turn them _into_ treats, the way she snarled like a wolf before charging at them. Waverly’s shotgun and Jeremy’s rifle aimed, but soon they found themselves unable to see; the woman tossed a smoke bomb their way. Nicole threw caution to the wind and blasted the lock open. She ushered her teammates out and blind-fired three shots as she followed. The woman pursued anyway, unharmed.

They didn’t know where they were running, but they ran. Spur-of-the-moment type thing. They didn’t know there were—at least—three people here, never mind trying to guess what weapons they were packing. Could be anything with the armory they saw in the lobby. Right now it was best to lose them all in the weather, grab Dolls, and get out of here. There hadn’t been many places to pick up new supplies, and the few places they happened across weren’t too kind. Ammo was low since the big showdown in the hunters’ town with the Perley sisters. They could’ve taken the ammo stashed away in the garage they used on that last night, but manners got the best of everyone. At least they’d be going out honest instead of thieving assholes.

Elsewhere—who knows _where,_ exactly—Rosita felt a bullet graze deep through her arm. She paused in her steps for a moment, enough to bring concern. She commanded Doc and Wynonna to keep chasing the stranger. Doc was hesitant at first but knew he had to keep going. Wynonna was hyper-focused on stopping this person, finding Dolls, and getting the hell out of here.

But the visibility was too low. Stopping for just that split second to eye Rosita was too long. Wynonna pushed on anyway. Doc followed. They ran for long but came up short, only getting themselves lost deeper in the set of trees surrounding road. Didn’t appear said road was anywhere near. How far did they run, really? They were beginning to realize it was only them out here, others either stuck at the motel or scattered about this awful weather. Scattered in awful weather was the typical route.

“Dolls is missing, we have no idea how to get back or where we are, and I have no clue where my sister is,” Wynonna sighed, “but at least I have a letter, a map, and Sanctuary, right?” She groaned. “Getting sick of this shit. Sometimes I wish we stayed with Bobo. If I sucked it up back then, none of this crap would’ve happened. You know, maybe Dolls would be okay and I wouldn’t have to worry about if my only god damn sister is alive or not because I can’t seem to keep her safe.”

Doc lit a cigarette, using a lighter this time instead of the usual matches. Smokey the Bear would be happy. “Darlin’, you know that’s not true. That place was a nightmare.”

“Sure, but it was safe! Willa would be alive, too.” She bowed her head, rubbed the side of Peacemaker over with her thumb. Then, “It is a relief, though. Knowing you’ve been there. It sounds great. Worth it. I think I’d snap if we went there, after all of this, and found nothing.”

Doc stopped, removed his hat. His eyes looked sorry. “I can’t do this anymore. It’s too cruel.”

“What, the weather? Throw on another jacket then, you puss.”

“Wynonna, I lied.”

“What about?”

He eyed her harder. “I lied. I haven’t been there.”

Wynonna nearly collapsed. She swore her heart stopped. Why now, of all times? She stammered a bit, searching for the right words, until finally her voice raised coherently, “You _lied?_ Doc—”

“There you are!” a third voice chimed. Doc turned, pistols aimed. His hat fell from his hands and onto the ground. Wynonna only stared at his profile, dumbfounded.

“Rosita!” he said. His revolvers lowered. He reached for his hat. “Are you alright?”

She indicated her red arm, a stored hand towel trying to mop up the mess. “Stellar.” Her expression was dead. “We should head back before we freeze. It’s only getting worse out here. Maybe we can corner them or something.”

Wynonna stormed right off, some parts of her brain rebooting. “If you see those assholes, shoot,” she declared.

“We need them to find Dolls,” Doc protested.

“We can figure that out alone.”

She disappeared into the pale air.

-

His heart hammered so hard it brought his head to ache. His head was so sensitive he swore he could hear every little mumble of the universe. Yet, somehow the burning in his side was worse. Strange; he didn’t remember getting hurt. Then again, right now there wasn’t a lot he could remember.

He followed instincts to put a hand to the pain, as if touching it would somehow will it away. He found both hands, together, going for the one spot. His shut eyes burned as they slowly slipped open. Duct tape bound his wrists together, toppling fingers onto one another. His hearing fell into focus. There was a light thud. Then nothing. A grunt. A thud. A frustrated breath. Nothing. A grunt. A thud. A frustrated breath. Nothing. A thud. . . .

He finally looked up, his head heavy. Now he recalled being struck. His knuckles felt sensitive, too. He punched something, didn’t he? Or was it _someone_?

He jumped awake. His feet scrambled to push him fully against the wall behind him. He took shallow breaths. His side throbbed more. It was hitting him all at once; the feeling of being followed, watched. He knew that feeling all too well. He'd tried to go anywhere else, lose them in the blaring white. His hands rested over his gun. Someone jumped out at him. He kicked them and ran. A second popped up and stabbed him without warning. The first yelled at them. Something about keeping him unharmed; _Don’t spoil the meat!_ Then something crashed against his skull.

Now he was here. Where was _here?_ He looked around. Lighting wasn’t great. Old water heater. Some old crates, too heavy to move. Basement? He found the thudding again, generated by thick boots. A woman. Blonde. Her hands were bound, too. She tried desperately to grab hold of a metal staircase winding against the wall. It was sawed-off halfway through, and the bottom half was gone, only proof of its existence being unpainted spots on the walls. She was having no luck. It was too high. He could see the exit above was blocked by something. Bookshelf? He inspected more. Was it just them?

He shrieked—he couldn’t help it—at the sight next to him. A man, dead or unconscious, rested on his right, in the corner, red stains all over. Missing three limbs that were messily patched up. The girl approached him. He was ready to demand to know what was happening, but he could only stare at the woman, the blonde, in awe.

“Eliza?”

She smiled, gently, despite the clear frustration of being stuck in this place. “Good to see you again, X.”

-

Xavier Dolls and Eliza Shapiro met in the military. They served in Kabul together, and they’d gotten closer to one another than anyone else in their lives. After the Outbreak hit, and shortly after Dolls took down Jeremy’s corrupt father and joined the Fireflies, he and Eliza fell into a huge disagreement. They saw the world differently; Eliza wanted to stop and help every possible injured person they came across, while Dolls was obsessed with survival and living to see another day. The cost wasn’t something that interested him. His choices regarding survival always pushed moral boundaries. Never involved helping anyone else. Why he stopped to help Wynonna Earp was a mystery. Eliza couldn’t stand it. At last she had it, calling him out for rejecting those in need in humanity’s most crucial time, and suddenly they went from closer than bonded atoms to joining separate Firefly locations.

But now she was here, in this hell, trapped as he was, happy to see him. Dolls couldn’t kill his undying smile. She said it was good to see him again.

He explained what happened to him, and she repeated the same. Similar; she was traveling with fellow Fireflies to another location and these people managed to capture them. She was the last of her crew, save for the unconscious man next to Dolls. She wasn’t fond of that man, but she wished there was a way to help him. She always did. Dolls felt nothing about him changed, because his first thought was _better him than you._

Then she went on to explain what the deal with this place was. The motel and the diner on the side were both owned by the same family, those who lived here now. These owners, the Tatenhills, were Olive, Herman, and Hetty. Olive was the mother and the oldest, mostly participated in cannibalism, and did all the cooking. Game nearby grew scarce every winter. The people they kidnapped were kept in the same basement Dolls and Eliza found themselves in now. She took off parts of people they could live without before completely killing them. This way they didn’t spoil as fast and could be rationed. The son, Herman, was the one she trusted most, especially for hunting and laying traps around the area when wildlife was rich. The sister, Hetty, was less willing to participate in their lifestyle of stealing people and eating them part by part, but she didn’t exactly have any other place to go. Both she and Herman tried to stick to animals but some days, in this game-dry land, there wasn’t any other choice. Eliza and her crew gave them quite a fight in the diner, but they lost despite their strong efforts and numbers. These people knew their land well, even with the blinding storm outside. It was only a matter of time before the rest of Dolls’s team were stuck in this room with them. Eliza heard them earlier. Dolls’s name was muttered several times. The team did a great job of luring the Tatenhills away, especially because Olive, who was in here earlier situating Dolls’s wounds accidentally inflicted by Hetty, left the door open when she left. They had to act now, before any of the family members returned. All they had to do was climb to the top of the staircase, move the bookshelf, and run free. So Dolls urged Eliza to help him to his feet.

-

Nicole called for Jeremy and Waverly a fourth time. Nothing. Just winds whistling in her ears and cold piercing into her bones. She wondered how they got separated so fast. How they lost their attackers so fast, so easily. She was trying to return to the motel now, walking in a direction she hoped was correct, following her own footprints. She shivered violently, hugging herself to hold in some warmth.

“Fucking hate snow,” she bit through gritted teeth. She kicked a pile in front of her. “Over-glorified orbs of—” she shuddered suddenly “—of fuckery.”

She cupped her hands and called for Jeremy and Waverly twice more. Again, nothing. Winds whistling. Freezing cold forcing her to shudder. She sighed, watching her breath appear in the air before her.

“Fucking hate snow.”

She lightened up at the sight of more footsteps in the snow, multiple steps forming a thick line on the ground. Had to be Jeremy and Waverly’s. Their pursuer’s, too.

Then she stopped. Her pistol left her hip.

“Drop your weapons, assholes.”

They stared back at her a moment. They were dressed identical, perhaps a bit too lightly for this chill; jeans, long sleeve shirt, denim jacket, bandana over faces, Stetsons on heads. Were they twins? Related at all? _That_ close or lacking other clothes? Luckily they were so underdressed it was easy to tell what they were packing. Knives, no guns. One of them had a gun holster but it was empty. Not that it’d hurt them; they probably knew the area well and relied on sneak attacks and bad weather to kill. Guns would only give them away. Best to tuck them away for use on clear days.

The one on the left, longer-haired, dropped their weapon, a long machete, first. The other shot a threatening growl.

“Pick that up, Hetty.” As if Nicole couldn’t hear them. And wouldn’t shoot.

“She’s got a gun, Herman,” this Hetty replied.

“And no reason to keep you _both_ around,” Nicole added. The mystery of Dolls’s location wasn’t a two-person solve.

Clearly, this Herman wasn’t moved. Not with the way he hurled his dagger at Nicole’s head. She dodged easily and let off two shots—of nothing.

She swore at the sound of her gun clicking. No ammo. No ammo in her hunting rifle, either. Jeremy offered her some before, but of course she was too stubborn to accept. He needed it more, was her reasoning. The pair in front of her heard it, too. Herman charged for her and Hetty moved for the machete she tossed in the snow. Nicole dove for the weapon, longer arms allowing her to grab it first. Hetty was discouraged by the sight. Stopped, even. But Herman kept going. Nicole sliced at his denim-clad shin. When he tipped over slightly in pain, foot wobbling, unsteady, she kicked him from where she lay across the snow. Her foot landed its blow on his groin, strong enough to send him reeling back in pain. Hetty kept her busy in the meantime, stomping a boot on Nicole’s wrist and prying the machete from the death grip Nicole had on it. Her plan was to crash the blade down on Nicole where she was pinned. Hetty’s arms raised the weapon over her head, like a guillotine ready to crash down, and prepared to finish the job. But Nicole wrapped her fingers around Hetty’s snowflake-covered shoe and pulled so hard her attacker lost balance and fell over. Once again the machete returned to Nicole’s possession after flying from Hetty’s looser grip. She pushed the girl off her and gave a strong blow to the jaw. By now Herman was back on his feet. And charging over once more. Nicole caught on just in time, just in time to send the blade right into his flat stomach. He pushed her off to prevent further damage, before falling back himself. Nature’s white blanket ran red.

Hetty was so concerned with her partner—whatever their relationship—Nicole saw the perfect opportunity to scurry off. She readjusted the Stetson on her head, gun on one shoulder, and backpack on both as she ran. She was surprised nothing fell off during the squabble.

She was following the tracks again. She’d get back to the motel, find someone she knew, and have them use their gun to shoot. Or steal one of those longer blades from the lobby. Or she could hide until Hetty found her, sneak up behind her, and snap her neck. Well, snap her neck after she spilled the beans on this place. The important things—how many lived here and where Dolls was.

Not that simple. Never was. Because Nicole was being tackled from the side now, arms reaching for her neck.

She flipped them, as Hetty grumbled something about how she’d make Nicole pay for Herman. Nicole could say the same about Dolls, wherever he was and whatever his status. She held Hetty on top of her, back-down, trying to strangle her to death as Hetty’d tried before. But Hetty fought too fiercely. So Nicole reached into her own back pocket swiftly, revealing her sharpened dagger. Hetty fought harder. It helped Nicole only had one arm pressed against her throat now. Maybe she shouldn’t have tried the knife, she considered. Hetty pushed one hand against Nicole’s wrist, the one with the blade and promise of death, while the other attacked in any way possible—jabbing her elbow into Nicole’s side, attempt to pull the arm strangling her. Eventually she settled for digging her untrimmed nails into both of Nicole’s hands, slipping her fingers under gloves blocking the flesh. Some of Hetty’s nails had chipped off, only making some sharper than others.

Nicole tried desperately to ignore the pain, but she couldn’t. Blood was starting to draw. She pushed the knife further and squeezed her arm tighter around Hetty’s throat, but the damn girl wouldn’t quit. The searing pain loosened her grip just enough for Hetty to break free _and_ steal the knife from Nicole’s grip. She coughed harshly and gasped for air as Nicole stood, hands and wrists burning. Then Hetty was charging for her again.

If there was one thing Nicole learned, it was never strike first. Play defense. Wait for the perfect moment to slip in a hit or go full dominant offensive. Be patient. Especially helpful against angrier opponents. And angry this opponent was.

So she waited for Hetty to approach, armed or not, and ran the scenarios through her head; how to win, how to lose. Hetty was on Nicole’s right, knife in her left hand. Didn’t look she planned to use it this time. Maybe she’d force Nicole into a block and try a stab where she wasn’t paying attention. She’d have to disarm her before then.

When Hetty was close enough, fists clenched and yelling in fury, a battle cry, Nicole stepped farther to the left and stretched her long right arm straight out. She did so at the last second, the last breath, dropping her pseudo-stance, the one that said _Come get me!_ She lunged forward herself and smacked her forearm against Hetty’s sore throat, enough to knock her off her feet and right on her back. Her head bumped against the solid ground, consciousness leaving her.

Nicole waited a moment to be sure. Then she took back her knife, her fallen Stetson, her fallen rifle, and readjusted her backpack again. She spared Hetty one last glare before leaving.

“Youngest of three, asshole,” she panted. She walked off. “Gonna have to try harder than that.”

-

They had to leave the other man. There was no chance for him. Eliza woke him up, had him make his peace, then snapped his neck. He begged her to. Then she was helping Dolls over to the broken staircase. The door was still open; all they needed to do was move the bookshelf in the walkway and leave for good, find the others and leave. Simple enough.

If Dolls wasn’t injured.

Eliza had to go up first. This way she could pull him up. Still, his side burned criminally, and a couple times he failed to hold her up long enough. She suggested making other plans, maybe try those crates in the corner, a plan that always failed, but Dolls wasn’t having it. He pushed through the pain, the soldier he was, and Eliza pulled him up from above, by the arms after a short hop. It was difficult with duct taped hands and weaker limbs, and Dolls’s largely protesting side, but they managed. They always managed.

After two long weeks in this hellhole Eliza eagerly swerved the tall piece of furniture aside so fast it nearly lost balance and toppled down the steps. The front door was swung wide open, no one bothering before to take a second to shut it. She laughed joyously at the sight of snow, the feel of wind rushing in. She didn’t care how underdressed she was, how she shuddered immediately. She was free. She’d live. Her oldest, closest friend was by her side, and maybe they could patch tings. After two long weeks in this hellhole, praying and hoping she’d somehow make it out, things were finally looking up.

Dolls found the knife Herman hurled at his team earlier. He was unaware, curious as to why a butcher knife was abandoned on the dusty, unwaxed floor. Eliza gave it no thought. Dolls cut her restraints first, tried not to be too upset at the red marks left behind, then she cut his. Just in time for someone else to walk in. They weren’t a threat, not the way they dropped their rifle, _squealed_ , and pulled Dolls into a painful hug, enough to irritate his wound. He didn’t mind. Then this person, Jeremy Chetri, did the same to Eliza, someone he likewise hadn’t seen in much too long.

But once again reunions were chopped. The wrong type of Stetson-wearer entered the scene, acting tough despite the machete buried in his stomach. He was staring death in the face. He was instructed by his sister, hurriedly, to go to the diner and patch himself up. Then he saw Jeremy, got greedy, and followed him. His consequence: Eliza skillfully tossed his own knife, as he did before, and finished him with a blow to the skull. The price for greed.

Jeremy, the gentleman he was, lent Eliza a jacket and placed another on Dolls. He had the two eat quickly, as well, as much of a turn-off all this cannibalism nonsense was. They both looked a little weak. True, Eliza wasn’t exactly fed well and Dolls needed the energy. One by one the others piled in with time, all hoping to corner and kill their foes in their own home, whatever the odds were. Only because said foes would be impossible to find in this horrid weather. Jeremy and Doc moved Herman’s rotting corpse outside to be dealt with later. Eliza filled everyone in on this place, as briefly as possible. And before Wynonna interrupted, too preoccupied before to realize Waverly wasn’t here. Naturally she assumed her sister was being watched by Nicole, so she worried freely about Dolls’s wound and Doc’s latest reveal for just a second longer.

She and Nicole rushed outside. She grabbed Jeremy instead of Doc. She claimed it was to have him watch the others, all but Eliza injured. The kindest words she could manage for now. Eliza managed to reveal the three owners of the property. With everyone’s knowledge piled together, they knew Hetty was out cold somewhere, snow likely burying her. Herman was dead. So Olive must’ve been on Waverly’s heels—in the worst case scenario. Nicole was prepared for the worst. Wynonna chose to believe her sister was lost in the fuzzy air.

Nicole would’ve been correct.

Waverly thought she was safe. She was heading back to the motel. She hoped. Then she had that feeling. That awful feeling of being watched. She walked faster. Her shotgun left her shoulder. Then that _something_ made itself known: Olive. She jumped from the fog, grabbed the gun’s barrel, pointing the end away from her person, and pushed it roughly against Waverly’s form. The thing left Waverly’s grasp, and soon her backpack was ripped from her shoulder as she tried to run off.

She’d lost Olive for a while in the shabby visibility. She still had a revolver tucked into her back pocket, so she still stood some chance. But she couldn’t help feeling annoyed; this was the second time Olive was on her heels. Waverly lost Nicole and Jeremy long ago, when the woman tackled her just outside the motel. Waverly was lucky to get away; Olive was a determined killer—the worst kind.

Waverly found herself amongst trees. Definitely going the wrong direction. The motel was after a small parking lot and endless asphalt stretching from town to town. Now she stumbled across . . . a shed? A patch of trees were missing, a little wooden structure in their wake. Cruel— _I killed you! Look what I made you into!_

Her breath caught. Olive emerged—and broke into a sprint, Waverly once again in her sights. The one who once dreamed of peacefully being a historian started this chase again, growing more annoyed by a round three, this time firing her gun once in the air. _Someone_ had to be nearby. Lately she trusted someone was _always_ nearby.

In the distance, someone—three someones—did hear. They moved along quicker.

Waverly blind-fired twice. Three bullets left. She missed Olive twice. Her legs, chest, heart, lungs burned as she continued on. She tried not to peek over her shoulder at her pursuer too often, fearing she’d smack into a tree and blow everything she’d fought for at this point. Everything Wynonna sacrificed to keep them both going. Everything the _team_ sacrificed. Widow Nicole a second time, who was reluctant to start a relationship for fear of death and its sting of heartbreak.

She thanked the stars, the Gods, whatever luck she could scrape from the bottom of the jar, her pack was abandoned. Shotgun, too. She had less weight to haul, more stamina. But for how long? The thought made her shoot upward again. A cry; _Help me, damn it, there’s a madwoman on my trail!_ And said madwoman would not let up. Waverly was realizing now, for some reason, Olive abandoned the stolen shotgun. That shed must’ve been placed in the middle of nowhere for such a reason as now, seeing as she now wielded a red-stained machete. A drive-thru weapons emporium for the everyday unarmed cannibal. God, and the thing was _used._ Couldn’t clean the damn thing?

Waverly kept going. She was terrified her legs would give out, not that she was in bad shape. But no one was made to run top speed for however long she’d been running for her life. Just this afternoon, anyway.

She hesitated slightly at the sound of rushing water. She could jump across it, maybe swim through it? No. She wasn’t a strong swimmer. Purgatory’s long winters and summers working Curtis’s farm didn’t supply many practice sessions.

No more land. She stopped, just steps from violent rapids, some spraying mist in the air. Because the snow wasn’t enough. Of course, Olive stopped behind her, at a distance. Waverly _did_ still have a firearms advantage. She shot upward again, then at Olive. Missed. Last two bullets. She swore mentally; she should’ve waited on that last one. She hoped Olive hadn’t been counting. And that help was near.

She decided to wait it out. Olive wouldn’t go anywhere, not with a gun trained on her. She _hadn’t_ been counting. Their breaths matched the same frantic rhythm, eyes mirroring the same, laser-your-face-off-if-I-could intensity. Hearts pounded, Waverly’s so hard she swore her ribs would crack open and her heart would fly out. It sped up, if possible. Rustling in the trees. Could be her people or Olive’s. She was still uninformed of how many that could be. Olive was taking the chance to move closer. Waverly could only squeak a warning. Not like she could shoot, and all her bullets were in the front pocket of her backpack. Which was lost in the snow somewhere. Olive only stepped closer, a confident strike, piercing more anxiety into Waverly’s very _soul._ Maybe the rustling was her people. Or she was starting to figure it out—that Waverly’s revolver was totally empty. She dared Waverly to shoot. Waverly didn’t react. Biggest giveaway possible. The machete raised, prepared to lower—

“Step away from my sister, you big ugly bitch!”

Olive grabbed Waverly and her gun. Spun them around. She put more focus on the long blade, shoved the gun against her skull. Waverly warned the gun was empty, so Olive tossed the tool aside and pressed the blade closer to her neck. Wynonna cocked Peacemaker. Jeremy put Olive in his sights. He wished he didn’t follow so close; he could’ve hit her by surprise from beyond the trees, unseen and unexpected. Nicole felt useless. All she had was her stupid knife. She just stood there, unarmed, nothing to offer in this situation. No way Olive could be talked down. Wynonna wanted to offer her rifle, but it was empty. Jeremy could hand over his Glock, but no doubt Olive would do something rash with someone else arming themselves against her. This no ammo thing was catching up to them; that hunter-occupied town really screwed them over.

Nicole at least _tried_ to play negotiator. No luck. Instead, Waverly and Wynonna communicated nonverbally, as best as possible. Waverly elbowed Olive and pushed the blade away. Simultaneously, Wynonna shot the woman. She fell too fast for Jeremy to add in. One problem: she grabbed onto Waverly and sucked her along into the rapids. Nicole immediately sprinted after them, no other thought than saving Waverly screening in her mind. She took a long dive into the violent rapids and swam for Olive as she tried to force Waverly under. Revenge for getting shot. Jeremy and Wynonna tried to help but couldn’t get the right angle in time.

Eventually Nicole, in her power strokes, made it over and plunged her now useful knife into Olive’s shoulder. She grabbed Waverly, coughing horrendously, and pushed the older woman away, who crashed into a rock. The sight brought more to Nicole’s attention: a long line of tall stones braving these waters. One of them was too close for comfort. Not enough time to dodge, either. Nicole wrapped Waverly securely in her arms and pivoted them, bearing the sting of slamming back-first against hardy stone.

She swore she blacked out for a second—she _had_ to—because the next thing she knew they were closer to the land bordering this river, not dead center of the stream. Waters were calmer, too, but not completely. One arm swam, the other held close to Waverly, even as Nicole crawled them to dry land. The weather seemed to be better where they were, however far they traveled, because she could see most of the land around them. Snowfall was lighter, too. They came from uphill. That’s where they’d need to go to reunite with the others. But for now Nicole flopped on her back, same as Waverly. She laughed hysterically, after a few deserved and needed breaths.

“Holy shit!” she said. She glanced back to the river above, the higher up the more violent the stream. “We were _in_ that!” She rolled her head to eye Waverly. “Maybe my luck _isn’t_ totally fu—Wave?”

She surged upward. Tossed her belongings aside. Inspected Waverly, closely. Unconscious. Nicole tapped at her cheeks, shook her by the shoulders. She said her name a few times before breaking out into full-on, fear-induced yelling. She felt for a pulse. Nothing. Nicole swore. She took position over Waverly, unzipped both the jackets covering her torso, then the button-up underneath. Thank _God_ she wore a button-up today.

Her chest wasn’t rising. She was still unresponsive to Nicole’s voice, touch. The former officer began CPR. She opened Waverly’s jaw and titled her head up before pressing down on her heart thirty times, even spaces of time between each. Just a few minutes ago it pumped so vigorously. Nicole begged her— _begged_ her—to come back. _I can’t do this without you._

It was the truth. She was ready to give up before. Stuck herself with people so reckless it was a miracle they lasted as long as they did. Then Waverly burst in that night, demanding her missing sister. Nicole came on this journey. Met these incredible people. Met unique survivors and learned how humanity was both screwed and preserved in even the tiniest bits, saw unique places. Finally met a girl she was crazy about.

She wasn’t about to give that up. Ever. For any cost.

She breathed life twice into Waverly’s lungs, then restarted chest compressions. She heard footsteps behind her. She turned slightly to meet them. If it was Wynonna, by now she would’ve made herself known with worried shouts. Nicole saw this person, mentally cursed the awful timing, but didn’t stop. They grabbed her empty rifle, easy waters washing over it. She didn’t care. She just kept pushing down onto Waverly’s chest, not daring look away or lose count.

“You’re coming with me.”

Hetty.

Nicole could put the theories together; how she got here so fast, how she happened to stumble across them. How stupid she was to think Nicole would stop. Curse herself for not killing her earlier.

“She’s not breathing,” Nicole muttered, moving to give mouth-to-mouth again. A silent, _Fuck off. Busy. Kill me later._

Hetty stared for a second, like she felt bad. Contemplated leaving them be. From the corner of her eye, the Nicole saw Hetty look at something, before crashing the rifle butt against her skull, cancelling her grand mission to save Waverly. Or so she thought as she fell back, unconscious. Waverly suddenly sprung to life, as if sensing the latest threat. She leaned to her side, coughed up water and took a couple breaths, took a brief look of her surroundings, then saw Nicole in front of her, splayed across the ground. She managed, “Nicole?” before the rifle left her in the same state.


	19. Sylvan Dread, Part Two: Sink or Swim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early release because it's ClexaCon and my ass is watching panels all weekend, not editing (but was I totally supposed to post this on Tuesday though)

Cold stung her booted toes, bare fingers missing of gloves, exposed face. An unsettling numbness spread all over; the feeling of being lost in her own mind. She was aware somewhere, somehow she was zoning in and out of consciousness, not strong enough any time to jut awake and grasp the situation. From what little she could piece together, with great effort, she was still in the woods. Still in trouble. Something tugged over and over at one leg, the other lifeless on the ground with the rest of her. Her arms were flung overhead, relaxed without a weapon to clutch, though the absence of a weapon was nothing to relax about. Voices chirped above, loud but somehow impossible to understand. Like they were using a different tongue. Her eyes squinted into focus now, the rest of her mind and body slowly tagging along. Smoke? Doc?

No. Vapor from loud speech and heavy breaths.

“Easy for you to say, Ma! You don’t have the heavy one!”

She understood—progress. She moved her squinted gaze at the form grasping her leg, not quite bundled up for the cold and perhaps not pulling her along most efficiently, yanking her clumsily and with so much effort she took a break every few seconds. She saw a light jacket and jeans. Wearing Nicole’s backpack and rifle. Her mind stopped. She should be freezing, more than she was before. She should be drenched, hypothermia and frostbite looming. She examined herself. Her hair was dry, locks breaking from her braid. Someone changed her into dry, warmer clothes. Why?

To keep her alive, probably. Like those others locked in the basement over the years. Like Dolls and Eliza.

She looked around more, the voices ongoing but easy to tune out as a new wave of fear hit. Olive was alive, river water still dripping from her person, and, more importantly, Waverly was alive, unconscious again but slung over Olive’s uninjured shoulder like cargo. At least she _hoped_ Waverly was alive.

She couldn’t think like that. She had to find a way out. She played along, the role of unconscious Nicole easy.

Paces later, they stopped, and the one who dragged Nicole along proclaimed for the thousandth time, “Mama, we’re lost!”

“Can it, Hetty, or I’ll rip your tongue out!” Her mother looked down again, probably at a map. Nicole made a note to snatch it. “Be more useful, like your brother!” Though he was no use now; he was dead.

She stopped near Nicole, who tried her best to look as peaceful as someone who was out cold, and dropped Waverly from her shoulder to the ground. Nicole swore in her mind. If Waverly was hurt . . .

“I need to check the safe house for new clothes,” Olive said, shoving a meaty finger in the direction. She forced the map into Hetty’s hands. “Figure it out in the meantime.” She headed off. “And don’t you let our meat spoil!”

 _Meat,_ Nicole repeated in her head. _Jesus._ They were _people,_ not food. Fellow survivors. Humans.

Humans who also needed to play dirty to survive.

She heard talk of “safe houses”. She _did_ zone in and out earlier. Scattered all about? Was that it? She could grab Waverly and run. If they couldn’t find them they could use one of these places as shelter, maybe find something inside. She was now realizing the river was gone. How far did they travel? How long were they out? Surely Wynonna and Jeremy were on their way?

She peeked one eye open. Hetty’s back, foolishly, was turned. Probably looking out for her mother, no matter how much of a challenge she seemed to be. Reminded Nicole of her own mother.

They could probably run. It didn’t seem Hetty had a firearm now, only a machete latched onto her waist. Favorite weapon, maybe? Maybe it was the one Olive had earlier, against Waverly’s throat. But didn’t she lose it to the river? Nicole lost her knife. There was also a chance a gun was locked in the shed where Olive resituated. Not the best odds.

She looked to Waverly. Out cold. Face half-buried in colder snow. Nicole checked her pulse. Alive. She called to her quietly. Nothing. Gave her a shake. Nothing. Tapped her freezing, red cheeks. Nothing. Shook her harder. Nothing. Could she carry Waverly and run? Olive had to come back to pick her up. She could look for a gun then. Maybe—

“No guns, Hetty. Herman forgot to stash ‘em.”

Finally, a damn break!

“Let’s hope there’s no trouble,” the daughter added with a sigh.

Nicole held in a giddy, hopeful grin as Hetty reached for her foot to resume their trail. They weren’t armed, not with a projectile weapon. First Hetty told her mother a guess of their location. Called her out for insisting on taking the shortcut that got them lost in the first place. Got yelled at for speaking up. Then she grasped for Nicole’s foot, which quickly shot up and left a red imprint of a boot on her pale face. Nicole rolled to her side and onto shaky feet as Hetty reared, holding her nose and swearing. Olive swore in frustrated unison and hurried her daughter along, taking the machete for herself when she deemed Hetty took too long to recover.

Nicole’s heart pounded in her throat. She’d either save herself and Waverly, or get hacked apart by cannibals with a, potentially, _used_ machete in the woods starting to feel more like a forest given the apparent larger size, like some stupid horror flick. She was a bit disoriented, standing in freezing, blinding snow, and ready to fight unarmed. Exactly the kind of crazy shit she promised herself not to do.

Olive lunged at her front. She knew she should’ve tried a quick disarm but she jerked back instead. Hetty whined about her nose. She thought it was broken. Nicole hoped so. Olive swung again, once diagonal and once horizontal. Nicole dodged, dodged, then jabbed quickly at Olive’s unguarded throat, the woman stopping to cough. Nicole knew she should’ve kept going, but the exhaustion and the cold might’ve been getting to her head, because she didn’t. Now she was dodging another swipe, immediately, narrowly avoiding a follow-up strike from Hetty. She bent out of the direction of the girl’s messy pummels, then proceeded to punch her in the nose again and pushed her into her approaching mother with a yank of her jacket. Olive lost balance for a second. When she caught herself she jerked Hetty back in Nicole’s direction, who sucker-punched her a third time in the nose, exploding with blood this time.

“Hetty, get it together! Don’t you let another run!”

The younger of Nicole’s opponents forced herself back up with a pained grunt, one hand holding her nose and some of her crazed, feral expression. She was angry. Goody. Sometimes it was easier taking down enraged opponents, like earlier; they were too lost in fury to act properly. When the two lunged simultaneously at Nicole, one in a red haze, the other armed with a reaching knife, she decided to wait until the last minute to dive from the way. Olive accidentally buried the weapon in her daughter’s arm, leaving the two to panic briefly and enough time for Nicole to return to a stance and shake some snow from her shoulders and focus into her head. Waverly was at her feet. She considered grabbing her and finally making a break for it. But she wasn’t risking a surprise. So she waited again for her opponents, sick of this game, to finish what they started the second they nabbed Dolls. She scooped enough snow to make a snowball and hurled it at Hetty’s sensitive nose, hitting the same spot a fourth time. She almost felt bad. Almost. She sprinted over, scraping snow in between her fingers, and tossed the frozen droplets into Olive’s eyes. She defensively flailed the blade about, but Nicole, mind a lot clearer now with more time to wake up and adrenaline surging, skillfully seized her wrist, stole the weapon, and plunged it into her heart.

Right away, Hetty swore at Nicole and her own incompetence, not in letting her mother die but letting Nicole obtain the weapon. She copied Nicole’s tactic, childishly throwing snowballs of all messy shapes at Nicole’s face, trying to somehow make her fall back. Admirably, she didn’t try to run. She stood her ground, stayed to try to finish Nicole off, like she had something to prove. Maybe to her mother’s rotting corpse she was as useful as dear old Herman. She _was_ the last one alive, after all. When Nicole approached close enough, slowly like a grim reaper, Hetty kicked at her torso, punched for her face. Nicole absorbed the first, pathetic blow, and titled her head nonchalantly for the second. Then she killed the third and final Tatenhill with a deep chop into her neck, crashing the blade down with all the might she could muster. It’d be the last time she kept Nicole from saving Waverly. Once was enough.

She stole—or looted, rather—Hetty’s holster and that map, quickly fastening one to her waist and shoving the other into a pocket. She reclaimed her dropped backpack and rifle then her dropped girl and sprinted away from their foes. Undeniably, they were dead, but it was never unwise to set some distance. The world had too many unfair surprises and twists. More so now than before. She carried Waverly in her arms, bridal-style, and retraced the line in the snow made by her own body being dragged across nature’s bland blanket, stretching for an unknown length. If somehow one of the two behind her lived, it’d be hard to track her and make a round three.

She ran until a familiar, misshapen tree cropped up again. It was the third time she saw the thing, meaning Hetty and Olive were going in circles. No wonder they had to prey on humans who steered too close.

There wasn’t enough of a snow trail, or any trail, really, to head her back to the river and eventually to the lone motel. Winds must’ve resituated snow, burying it over the tracks she sought—the useful ones. So in-the-moment-improv it was, going off-trail, exposing them or not. She needed to move quickly; she didn’t like the way Waverly shivered. She stopped briefly to give the girl another jacket, the one off her back. Nicole knew she didn’t have another one; Waverly was wearing her extra. But even with a tank top, shirt, and two jackets, Waverly shuddered violently.

Her arms were dead tired by the time a small lake house, frozen lake accompanying the space surrounding, exploded into view. Waverly was light, but damn was Nicole exhausted. But she’d be damned if she stopped before Waverly’s safety was guaranteed. She prayed the place was vacant. Waverly was only getting worse. She entered the house armed, Waverly still strewn across her arms, handgun poking out underneath. It had no ammo, but only Nicole had this knowledge. When she trusted this empty place enough she rushed Waverly into the comfortable-looking master bedroom in a corner of the house. She nearly squealed at the sight of stacks of blankets and towels, begging to be taken. Waverly stood a chance. No doubt Nicole’s personal collection was soaked through her pack, probably reeking. At least, valiantly, they saved her clothes. Can’t have everything, after all.

She shook the backpack and rifle off, first gently placing her shivering girlfriend on the bed. Quickly she zipped the pack open to check the contents, maybe air it out. She saw some things were rearranged. Hetty and Olive, she hated to admit, saved their lives. If they didn’t change both Nicole and Waverly’s clothes—the thought of being stripped bare an unnerving thought for another time—they’d both have hypothermia, organs probably shutting down by now. But then again, Waverly caught it anyway. So maybe they weren’t owed at all, or as much.

Over sheets already provided, tucked in, and covering Waverly, Nicole stacked up thin blankets intended for summer visits, thicker fleece likely here more for aesthetic than anything else, and dry towels on Waverly’s far-from-peaceful form. Afterwards she went through her own belongings and tossed on whichever ones weren’t totally soaked through. But Waverly shivered the same, despite how much time passed.

“Fuck it.”

Nicole couldn’t stand here and do nothing, watch and hope everything would work out. She had to do something. She ripped off her own long sleeve, her belt, boots, jeans, everything. She didn’t _want_ to do it this way—it felt like a huge breech of privacy—but letting Waverly die wasn’t a trade-off she was keen of. She stripped herself down and tossed her empty gun to the empty side of the queen bed, slipping carefully under on the same space. She ignored—tried to—the way Waverly’s teeth chattered now, the cold sting her skin gave off. Luckily it was still a normal color, not pale or carrying a blueish tint. She called to Waverly and attempted to wake her while trying hard not to uncover them too much and let cold air seep in, as she undid Waverly’s boots, then oversized, borrowed sweatpants and layers of shirts. No response. If Waverly wasn’t shivering so terribly Nicole would check her pulse again, frantically. She settled the most effective way possible and jumped at the feeling of Waverly’s freezing, bare skin, tried not to be freaked out by the slowing breaths, the pulse that could be stronger. At least it beat at all.

Nicole didn’t know how much time passed. She hoped her thumping heart didn’t bruise the two of them the intense way it crashed against her chest. By now Waverly’s breathing picked up a bit and evened out as normal. Shivering stopped. She felt warmer. So Nicole carefully slipped off of her, redressed her, left the bed, wrapped blankets tightly around Waverly’s resting frame, redressed herself, and finally, _finally_ took a damn breath. Then she laughed in disbelief again. They made it. They made it! She had no clue how, but they did.

She left the room to do another, more detailed sweep of the place. Only one story, but many rooms. No trouble, nothing suspicious. She even managed to find canned goods and bottled water, and a grill with propane out back.

The map she lifted was useless. She learned this on the way over. It was hand-drawn, with no identifying landmarks of any kind, like a child slapped the thing together as some time-passing art project. The Tatenhills were terrifying, sure, but smart they were not. Hell, if it was summer time and the team had the proper equipment Dolls would’ve dropped Hetty and Herman when they started this mess, and the eight would be on their way, only two bullets and thirty seconds of time wasted. Instead they were in this mess, separated, Nicole searching for another way back to her team. She knew she’d have to use a vantage point and the scarce knowledge of this place she had. That knowledge being: there was a huge mess of trees almost impossible to navigate properly without spiraling in circles or getting further lost, a lake out front, and a river somewhere. They occupied some family’s old lake house, and the motel-diner was an unknown distance away. Not a lot to go on.

She stacked some outdoor chairs atop one another and climbed onto a shed out back. She took a breath of faith and leaped, tired legs managing enough strength to propel her to the lake house’s slanted, drooping roof. At the building’s peak, she could see the chopped land behind the house, the front side’s sights mostly buried in trees. Maybe it _was_ a forest, too big to identify as woods. Depending on who you asked. It looked the river broke off somewhere and streamed down into this lake. So not a lake, really. Depending on who you asked. Maybe they could navigate back when Waverly was up to it. Who knew how long that could be. She wished Rosita was here now; she could set off a firework as a flare. Or use the actual flare gun Rosita had stashed away. No one was alive to track them and try to kill them. Instead she was climbing back down, plotting a way to navigate the mess of trees before them. She was desperate enough to try the stupid map once more.

-

Waverly woke slow, then all at once. She could feel her own breath in this enclosed space, blankets over her head with a design to keep heat in. Naturally she assumed the worst and untucked herself from the nest she wasn’t aware Nicole made, shooting up and ripping the pile off her head. Her tangled locks were a frizzy mess, bouncing slightly as her head jerked around.

“Hey, take it easy, baby.”

And she did. She couldn’t mistake that voice. The way it was always grounding, calm. Safe. She turned her head to find Nicole, sitting on the bed’s right, gun to the side of one leg stretched out, the other hanging off the bedframe and touching the hardwood floor beneath them. She was angled to the door, something paper in her hand. Ready to defend, if the occasion came. She slid a hand over, intending to take Waverly’s temperature, but Waverly grabbed it to hold instead. She needed to be grounded beyond just a voice.

She took in the room around her. The last thing she recalled was Nicole diving in the river after her . . . a hard thud . . . black . . . bursting back to life, water forcing itself out of her lips . . . seeing Nicole unconscious then feeling a hard smack at her head . . . So where’d the mattress under her come from? Was this a house? She didn’t recognize it. And was she wearing Nicole’s clothes?

She looked to Nicole, noticing the harsh throbbing of her skull and the way everything felt—wrong. She felt cold, groggy, unable to completely grasp what was happening. She pulled the blankets closer. Was she sick? Now wasn’t the time to be sick!

Before she could hit Nicole with a thousand questions at once Nicole was moving to answer them. After she handed Waverly some water and heated some soup using the grill outside. She explained how she jumped in after Waverly, how Waverly’s heart stopped, how she killed the two Tatenhills, how she carried Waverly for so long.

Waverly’s heart warmed, high above the low temperature it sat at. “Baby, how long did you travel?” Her speech was slowed before, asking questions as Nicole recalled what happened, but now it was at a normal speed again. Excellent; she was getting better.

“I wasn’t keeping count, exactly. Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes? Half an hour?”

Her free hand fell over her mouth. “Nicole, you carried me for half an hour? In the snow? Alone?”

“It’s not that big a deal, Wave.”

“My hero,” Waverly gushed anyway. Nicole couldn’t fight a small grin.

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to play the hero.”

She set the now-empty soup can aside and took Nicole’s hand. “I can’t be mad at that. As crazy dangerous as it was.”

Nicole was distracted by the colder hand locked with hers. Earlier it was warm. It should’ve been warm from the soup, too. Her speech was better, comprehension, too. Waverly noticed how she tensed, the worry growing all over. “Shit, are you cold again?”

Waverly grabbed her hand before it could check. “Hey, I’m fine. “ She gestured to the mess of blankets. “Warm enough. I’ll still be a little chilly. It’s really cold out.”

“I don’t know. I’m pretty sure it’s hypothermia.”

“Are you sure it’s not a fever?”

“You can’t get sick from the cold. My ex was a doctor; I heard that one a lot.”

“Because you’re stubborn and worry too much? I’m fine. I feel fine.”

“You were shivering like you had a seizure! I had to heat you with the body-sharing thing.”

Waverly’s eyebrows perked. “Oh?” She gave a naughty expression, bit her lip. “Maybe I’m feeling a _little_ cold again.”

Nicole shook her head, laughing. “You’re terrible.” A pause. “It’s okay, right? That I did that? I tried not—”

Waverly took her hands again. “It’s perfectly okay. You saved my life, Nicole.” She kissed her knuckles, bruised and slightly red from the two brawls she’d gotten herself into today alone. “So am I better now, or do I need eighty jackets?”

“You’re always wearing eighty jackets. I’ll need a thermometer to see if your body temperature’s normal.”

“Dolls should have one. Wherever he is.”

The realization of their situation fully hit Nicole. “ _We’re_ the missing ones now. In the middle of a forest.” She let off a long groan. “Man, fuck cannibals!”

“What should we do?”

“I started a fire outside. I thought maybe the smoke could lead the others over here.” She reached for the useless, folded paper map at her side. “Unless you can decipher this hillbilly nonsense?”

“Hey,” Waverly laughed, “I’m not a hillbilly, I’m a _cowgirl_.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Cowgirls are badass. Hillbillies are wannabes who live in trailer parks. And have no teeth.”

“Whatever. How come I’m the one with the accent, then?”

“Sexy accent you never use.” Waverly’s joining pout died. She began to look around in a way that worried Nicole. “Wait, where’s the Stetson?”

Nicole laughed, mostly in the relief Waverly wasn’t panicking over something pressing. A miracle given the day they were having. “That’s your worry here?”

“Where is it?” Her eyes were wide.

“I don’t know! It must’ve fallen in the river.” Honestly, Nicole didn’t notice the hat was missing.

Waverly flopped back against the mattress. “Man, fuck cannibals!”

Nicole gave another laugh, kissed her pouting girlfriend on the cheek, and headed outside. She used every log of firewood the vacation home’s previous owners left behind, and it burned nicely on the frozen shores steps away from the iced lake. An unhealthy column of black smoke spread about the air and well above the trees. Hopefully the right people were following it. She broke off pieces of the shed in the backyard for good measure, throwing them to burn as lumber was meant to in extreme colds.

Waverly watched, adoringly, a small grin and heart eyes overtaking her, as Nicole continued to do everything she could to save them. She was always happy to have Nicole along for this journey. Any time the thought of Nicole not here but with Lou’s men in that split town struck her she felt a gust of gratitude. Gratitude for whatever force it was that brought them together, always, starting from that fateful day she marched into Lou’s camp, and once again not too long after when Nicole sprinted back to save the team from Bobo’s kidnappers. She traveled for who knows how long then, too.

Waverly couldn’t get over it. Nicole, honest to God, _carried_ her all the way here, to this lake house. She dove into the freezing river and pushed, in all her passion, through roaring waters to save her. Made her heart pump again—literally. Killed the last of the Tatenhills, alone. Made sure her body temperature didn’t drop to deadly lows. It was insane. Insanely brave. Everything Nicole did was for Waverly. From day one, with no hesitation or regret or conditions. How could Waverly possibly top that? It was everything she never had, everything she sometimes believed she didn’t deserve.

Nicole listened. She always asked to hear more, whether it was about Waverly’s personal life, her interests, her nerdy recollection of forgotten history and dead languages. She reminded Waverly she wasn’t some boring, dull, nerdy dork, knew there was more to the smile and wave. She always made sure she was okay mentally and physically. She didn’t want her for her body, but for her brains, her laugh, her _person._ Even if she feared to her core Waverly could end up like Shae or she’d screw it up somehow, Nicole loved with all she had. Protected. Because Waverly wasn’t Shae, or some old fling she knew wouldn’t work anyhow. Waverly was Waverly. She was special, _extraordinary,_ Nicole’d always say. Nothing about their world was perfect, but they’d fight to keep each other in it anyway. Because, looming death or not, all they had was one another; Waverly and Nicole, Nicole and Waverly. Every detail of their relationship was worth fighting for.

She stared, never letting Nicole out of her sight, as if something would happen it she did, from the living room’s many windows. She watched as her hero filled out some sort of sexy lumberjack fantasy, wondering how many lifetimes of good deeds it took just to earn the privilege of standing here, admiring Nicole Haught and all of her radiating beauty.

“You’re not cold?” her redhead was asking, entering the house. _She_ should be the cold one, given her absence of jacket, donning only one tank top and one long-sleeve shirt compared to Waverly’s tank top, T-shirt, two hoodies, blanket.

She could reply with something sappy, something about being so lovestruck it warmed her up. Or something dumb. Something along the lines of her heart always being warm when Nicole was around. Because she was _Haught._ Instead she defended, “I have more layers than there is snow on the ground.” She added lower, “But if I was, sneaking a peek is worth it.”

“What was that?”

“I said, ‘Any luck’?”

“Uh huh. No luck. No fucking clue where we are or where we should go.” She joined Waverly by the windows overlooking the mess of flames just outside. “All we can do is wait, I guess.”

Waverly’s hand ran subconsciously across Nicole’s long arm, flinching when she touched bare fingers. Nicole lost her gloves by the time she woke up. She assumed the Tatenhill women tossed them away, given they were probably soaked through.

“What if we stayed here?” Waverly broke the silence. Nicole gazed at her, and she gazed at the quiet land displayed for them to see. “Just us; no Infected, no hunters, no stupid cannibals, no Bobo, no Sanctuary. Just you and me.” She settled closer to Nicole, resting her head under her chin. Nicole obliged by pulling her in close. “The summer would come. We could run through the grass, climb the trees, splash water at each other in the lake.”

It all sounded too good to be true. Perfect. A dream. A Sanctuary. But Nicole knew it’d be too perfect to work. Where would they get food? Weapons to hunt? She knew the quiet wouldn’t be enough. She and Waverly were made to run free, to adventure. A picture-perfect, static lifestyle wasn’t for them. Of all the pessimistic thoughts in her head, she only voiced one:

“What if we learn to hate each other? Grow apart? Replace problems with made up fantasies?” Waverly looked at her, because she knew she was talking about her relationship with Shae. “Don’t last?” Nicole dared add.

“We’ll last. I know everyone says that—I said that with Champ—but we _will.”_ Her hand cupped Nicole’s cheek. _“_ After all we’ve been through, we were _made_ to last. “ She stopped herself, and her hand dropped from Nicole’s face. Nicole missed her touch instantly. “Nicole, we’re not going too fast, are we?” Hazel-green met honey. “It’s just, I haven’t been with someone in seven years.”

 _Drunken hicks not your taste?_ Nicole wanted to joke. The words never left her lips.

“My only real relationship was Champ.” She rolled her eyes. “If you’d call _that_ a relationship. And I’ve never been with a girl before. But no one’s ever made my heart race like you do. But with our lifestyle, I’m afraid we’ll never know enough about each other.”

Nicole gave a reassuring chuckle. “You know I Vegas married the last girl I was with, right?” Waverly grinned. Still impossible to believe. “We can go as fast or slow as you need, Waverly. I can’t say we’ll be together forever, but I can say I’m starting to worry less. About the future, I mean. The future’s scary. The future was a big reason I turned you down before. Because I thought there was no point in being together if we’d just die tomorrow. That was a mistake. Now I see being together makes me want to _fight_ for tomorrow, not run from it. Fight like hell. Fight for a better future, not sit around worrying if I’ll lose you and fearing what could go wrong. If I think about losing you over protecting you, fighting by your side, it’ll really happen. I have no problem with going fast, Waverly, but don’t do it because you’re afraid there’s no tomorrow for us.”

Waverly blinked, almost looking stunned. It was enough to freak Nicole out.

“Too much?” she asked.

“No!” Waverly caught herself. “No, not too much. That was just—”

 _Perfect,_ she might’ve said.

“That was really corny, Heart Breaker.” she said instead. Nicole laughed her growing anxieties off. “But sweet. And just what I needed to hear.” She leaned up to kiss Nicole, who happily accepted, until Waverly suddenly broke it off. “Oh shit!”

“What? What’s wrong?” Nicole looked her over.

“What if you get sick?”

Nicole sighed in relief. “It’s not contagious. Not even a tiny bit.”

“I still say it’s a fever.”

“Well, you’d be wrong. Besides, my immune system is _awesome._ ”

Waverly shot her a look. “You also say you’re not a klutz.”

“I’m _not_ a klutz! I have bad luck!” She looked at Waverly again before pulling her close. “Well, maybe not _all_ bad.”

“You’re the corniest corn in the field.” She kissed Nicole again. “But I like you, very much.”

“Huh. Just so happens I like you, too.”

“Mmm, lucky me.”

They kissed again, caring not for the chill seeping into their bones, or where the others could be. They didn’t care Sanctuary was still a ways off, with countless other dangers to come. That didn’t matter, none of it. All that mattered was now, here. They mutual pumping of hearts, fluttering of butterflies in stomachs, lips melting so naturally together. All they had, all they needed was one another; Waverly and Nicole, Nicole and Waverly.

-

“How did we last?”

“Hmm?”

“Not being together? Like _together_ together? Just being friends? Not that boring old friends lasted for long.”

Nicole laughed at the question. She wasn’t so sure herself.

An hour or so had passed, definitely, judging how the shadows shifted outside. Nicole wasn’t paying attention. Her priority right now was keeping Waverly warm, who suddenly fell into a brutal chill. Weather turned sour outside again. Waverly insisted on waiting for the others in the living room, right by the front door. Windows were still intact, like they were the first ones to enter this place in seven years of chaos. In a way it was a relic of what the world used to be. Nicole even found new, fleece blankets to replace the lighter, soaking wet one in her backpack. And perfume, to kill the smell of everything else. They continued waiting for the others, splayed across the couch, sharing warmth under a mountain of blankets, holding onto each other like their lives depended on it. Nicole had to bend her long legs to fit, but she didn’t care. If Waverly didn’t want to watch the door, she’d have probably left for one of the bedrooms by now, though.

“I think in a way, we’ve always been _together._ Even when we weren’t _together_ together. We just kiss now. A lot.”

“Mmm, how did we last so long without sweet, sweet _together_ together kisses?”

Waverly kissed Nicole’s throat, where her face was already buried. Nicole laughed. She wasn’t so sure herself.

-

The way the door burst open made Nicole realize she’d been nodding off. She settled closer to Waverly, who scared the life out of her when she started shivering again. Nicole even made a small fire in front of the couch. Heated a water bottle and pressed it to Waverly’s neck. She kept a closer eye on her heart rate, too, to make sure everything was fine and nothing was shutting down. When she found a panting Wynonna Earp in her sights she sighed and lowered her gun.

“I thought you had no ammo?” Wynonna asked as she entered.

“The person I aim at doesn’t know that,” Nicole defended. “Only that there’s a gun pointed at them.”

“Not bad.” Wynonna reached the couch, where Waverly woke and turned to face her. “Haught, is she alright?”

“I’m—” Waverly yawned “—I’m fine.” She sat up. Wynonna looked her over anyway, to be sure for herself. “I need a thermometer, though.”

Wynonna looked to Jeremy, silently demanding he hand one over immediately. He didn’t.

“We only have one,” he explained, “and Dolls has it.”

“He isn’t with you?” Waverly asked. Her eyes went wide. “You didn’t find him?”

Wynonna filled her in, “No, baby girl, he’s fine. He’s at the motel. Injured. We left to find you. Then you two fell in the river with that asshole and we kept searching.”

Nicole sat up, mumbling, “Dead asshole, now.”

“They’re probably worried sick,” Waverly said. Wynonna nodded. She didn’t consider it before—why would she? She needed to find her sister first!

Wynonna took a breath. She wasn’t too eager to re-enter nature’s cruel maze. She was starting to share Dolls’s distaste—not that she feared it, but would much rather avoid the place entirely. Or chop everything down. At this point it was like eating too much of the same food; eventually you get sick of it and never want to see it again. Still, she decided, “I’ll circle back. Be back soo—”

“Actually,” Jeremy stopped, I’ll go.”

Wynonna wasn’t fazed. Not with the way Jeremy jumped at shadows, almost shot down a tree because he mistook it for a person. To be fair, they had no idea all three of the Tatenhills were taken care of. “Yeah, okay, Baby Dolls, wander the woods al—”

Jeremy looked at her, serious. “You should rest.”

Stay with Waverly, her only sister, he meant. Nicole picked up on it and stood with a stretch.

“I'll go with him.” She headed for the door, leaving no room for debate. Jeremy followed. “Rest up, Earp. Both of you.”

Waverly smiled, because she knew what the two were doing. No doubt Wynonna lost her mind after the river fiasco, so soon after Dolls missing all day. She motioned her sister over to sit, relax, calm down. She had her fill in about Dolls. She learned more about the late Tatenhills and possible new member Eliza Shapiro. Then, before Wynonna could apologize and lose herself for taking so long to find Waverly, Waverly told her everything that happened after the stand-off with Olive. Which at first was a bad idea; Wynonna didn’t take the news of her sister’s heart stopping lightly. Then she heard everything Nicole did for her and calmed. She never looked so relieved. Thankful.

“Finally picked the smart one,” she said. Waverly grinned, eyes looking to the fire Nicole made to keep her warm.

“Super smart.”

-

Jeremy spotted him first. “I’d know that mustache anywhere!” he declared. Nicole hoped it wasn’t a surprise killer who happened to be sporting a mustache, long coat, and dark hat. But indeed, It was their John Henry. The master tracker was sent to find the four not currently at the motel, one missing all along and three rushing to the rescue. He used Olive’s bigger shoe size to locate Waverly, expecting Wynonna to be nearby and solve the full mystery. Along the way he managed to recover Waverly’s backpack and shotgun, her revolver lost to the river alongside Nicole’s knife and police Stetson. Now he’d feel like the odd one out, being the only one with such an accessory. Because _that’s_ what made him stand out.

The three backtracked to retrieve the last of the team. They’d all stay at the lake house, or have Wynonna and Waverly join them back at the motel. Dolls insisted, despite his burning side, they go to the house. Eliza claimed it was because he was owed a vacation in one in the past. But she knew it was because neither of them could stomach staying one more second in this horrid place, Dolls putting Eliza’s feelings in mind. He pushed aside his inability to travel such a distance and his Sylvan Dread just to let her sleep comfortably. And she knew all about his Sylvan Dread and where it came from. He pushed through wounds like nothing in the past. But when it came to the woods? Only entered if totally necessary. He deemed her completely necessary. Maybe their relationship wasn’t as severed as she feared; maybe the time away was for the best.

-

Wynonna polished Peacemaker and tried not to think about how once again she wasn’t able to save her sister. Her thoughts were broken at the sight of the team outside. She could see them return from the bedroom she occupied. Windows everywhere—the view wasn’t worth a miss, not for a second. She tried not to care too much how freely Eliza and Dolls spoke on the way over. How she made him laugh, how he made her laugh. How close they stood. Touches of the hands, the arms. How human he looked. How she probably knew all about his Silver Dreads or whatever it was called. She didn’t know why she cared so damn much. What, was this high school in some cliché movie? Those crappy ones she saw and laughed about because her high school experience in and out of jail was nothing _near._ She turned her head. She didn’t care. Wasn’t her business. She had tons of other crap to let bother her. Like Doc’s lie, for instance. Would she tell Waverly? Or anyone else? Ask why he’d even do that? She shook her head again. Nope, not now. She turned to her sister, fast asleep under her hoard of blankets. Alive. Huge chance of making it. The person she’d been meaning to pour her hour-long thank you into poked her head into the doorway, fiery locks free of a braid or Stetson. Where was the damn thing, anyway?

 _She okay?_ Nicole mouthed from the doorway. Wynonna didn’t catch it, honestly. Again she tried, _Is Waverly okay?_ Same squinting, confused eyes. So she whispered, “Is Waverly okay?” She knew the answer was yes. Wynonna knew she knew, too. But she also knew hearing confirmation made a world of difference.

“She’s good.” Wynonna cleared her throat, ignored her dry voice. “She’s good. Sleeping.”

Nicole nodded and treaded lightly into the room. She held up the device in her hand. “Thermometer.”

She slowed a little, silently asking permission. Of course Wynonna motioned her along.

“Nicole,” she said as the device worked its wonders, “I can’t thank you enough.

Nicole smiled in the corner of her lips, eyes darting back to Waverly. “It’s no big deal.”

Wynonna turned fully to face her. “It is a big deal. Really. You saved her life.” She stared into Nicole’s eyes. “Thank you.”

Nicole grinned, fully. “No problem.”

The device beeped. _97.0._ Nicole grinned wider, read the number aloud. Finally, Wynonna could truly relax for the night.

“Our girl’s gonna make it,” Nicole said. She looked up, her eyes carrying the definition of the word relief. “Gonna keep her company?”

Wynonna gazed through the short hall, the faint voices pouring in. Doc laughed with Rosita. Eliza recalled a story about Dolls. She didn’t feel like joining, only staying with her sister, the last of her family. “Yeah. Of course.”

Nicole nodded and made for the doorway. “I’ll see if they need anything.”

Wynonna nodded before laying back, relaxation creeping up.

-

Like a family waiting for results on a newborn, the team crowded in the living room, waiting on Waverly’s status. Like a family waiting for results on a newborn, they let off happy cheers, relieved words, breathed easy. _Then_ they got to business.

“I’ll go put out that fire,” Dolls said. Eliza followed. He didn’t object.

“I shall see what fish life that lake has to offer,” Doc added. Jeremy eagerly joined him, muttering excuses why in bulk on the way out.

Rosita flopped down on the inviting couch, her wound all patched up. “And I’m sitting my ass down.”

Nicole could get in on that plan. She sat on the opposite end, noted the fire in front of the sofa was out.

“They lie when they say you cops aren’t badass.”

Rosita could easily piece it all together. Nicole asking for a thermometer and following the riverside earlier put it all in place. Some things she overheard from Jeremy as he briefed Dolls on what happened on their end, at his request. Stowing Waverly in a random lake house with a massive fire also helped. As did the scorch marks at her feet.

Nicole gave a tired laugh. “Some of us are.” She looked to Eliza outside, smashing lake ice with the butt end of Dolls’s flamethrower. Nicole left a convenient bucket near the burning wood. “I’ll take it we have a new member?”

“Yep. And I sense some incoming sexual tension.”

“Oh, good. We needed some non-lethal excitement.” Nicole thought it over. “Well, jury’s still out. Could end in a fist fight.”

“Maybe. My money’s on Earp.”

“Me too. Know how many bar fights she’d been in? She’ll take it home.”

-

“So everyone here’s a Firefly? The cowboy doesn’t seem the type.”

Dolls tried to reach for the bucket, but Eliza shooed him away. Too injured. He hated that.

Instead he replied, “We’re the only ones.”

Eliza scoffed as the bucket refilled. “Since when do you like travel buddies?”

“We’re all going in the same direction.”

“Where? Canada? It’s a great place, but I’m sure they still have the end-of-society problem.” She hurled the bucket’s contents at the stack of charring lumber. Some spots kept burning on.

“The Earps are going to a place called ‘Sanctuary’.”

“ ‘Sanctuary’? Is that a weed dispensary or something?”

“No.” Dolls spared her a chuckle. “It’s a safe place from all this.”

Eliza scoffed again. Refilled the bucket. “Right.”

“Doc’s been there. Their mother runs the place. She sent a letter and a map.”

“And you believe him? The guy right out of a western? Possible time traveler?” She doused the flames again. All gone. She set the bucket aside. Could be useful later.

“Hell no, I don’t trust him. He’s probably lying. But if Wynonna wants to believe it, that’s her business. It’s her quest. I’ll respect that.”

“Huh. Maybe you _have_ changed.”

He smiled. “Maybe. If it _isn’t_ real, it’s close enough to the setup we’re after. It’s farther than I like, but I chose it for them.”

Eliza crossed her arms. “That’s not like you.”

Dolls shrugged. “Maybe I’ve changed. Will you join us?”

“Sure. Going at it alone sucks. It’s suicide. But are you sure about the extra travel? It’s dangerous. What happened here isn’t unique.” She glanced to his wound. “Or rare.”

“Being a Firefly isn’t safe, either; the military’s after us now. It’s better this way. We’re all safer together.”

“So far I’m not convinced; you lost half your team today. They let you get kidnapped.” She left for the warmth of the house. Somewhere Jeremy cheered, catching a fish with his bare hands. Then he panicked because it was a slimy, wiggling fish. And he was a vegetarian. “But I trust you, X. It’s only for a little while, right?”

She didn’t stay for the answer. Dolls didn’t have one, exactly. He didn’t like the idea this team was temporary. Closer to their goal. Closer to parting.

-

The silence was deafening. One room had two bunkbeds—four beds. Wynonna and Waverly claimed the master bedroom. Rosita took one couch, Nicole another. Plenty more blankets to make up for the cold. Everyone would get a comfortable night’s sleep, best in a long time.

And here Nicole was, staring at the ceiling.

For once she felt she earned sleep. Earned the aquatic cuisine she had for dinner. Earned this warmth around her, the security of a hidden-away place and people she trusted her life with. People who solved problems, not drank themselves blind and attracted danger with inebriated hollers and gunshots. She saved Waverly today. Killed nearly all three Tatenhills herself. She wasn’t a reckless mess, uncaring of her own safety or if seeing tomorrow was in her favor. If she deserved that. She felt like a cop again. A person again, a person with feelings and people to back her up and a girl to pour her soul into and a rowdy older sister to bug her to hell. For the first time since her brother’s death, she felt hopeful again. Because of these wonderful people around her. Because of Waverly Earp.

But a small part of her hissed negativities.

The accidental discharge of her gun brought Infected to tear her brother to pieces. The guilt forced her away from her sister. She insisted Shae go to the hospital that day, instead of spend the day off together like married couples were supposed to—even if it felt like a chore and they were far from the proper standard of a married couple. She left the people she swore to protect in her town and rushed off to brother and sister. A whole town of people. She left in her squad car. People tried to flag her down for help. She kept going. Didn’t look for Shae in person, only assumed she was dead. And she screwed up her family anyway. The universe’s way of getting her back.

Then she saw Shae. She’d seen less of her these days. She addressed her issues with Waverly now. But Waverly was across the hall, not here, on a crappy couch too short for long legs.

“Not a bad job today.”

No tease to her tone, no smirk to boil Nicole’s blood. Not that she could see well; not because it was pitch black, all windows covered up with extra towels for the beach, but Shae wore all white. LED shade, enough to make your eyes burn. A cruel contrast in the dark surrounding. And was she wearing a dress? She was a figment of Nicole’s imagination, but the least she could do was dress accurately.

“Your sarcasm game’s fading.” Nicole didn’t believe the sincerity. Shae shook her head, leaned against the couch’s armrest.

“You can be proud of yourself. Just once. You did good today.”

Nicole scoffed. “I wanted to tell Dolls not to go alone. I said nothing. I knew we should’ve stayed and faced Olive. I said nothing. I couldn’t even strangle Hetty properly—I had to use a knife!”

Shae laughed. _Laughed._ “Seriously? Mistakes happen. There’s no way you were the only one thinking about Dolls leaving alone. So what? Now the creepy murderers can’t make any more victims for dinner. You helped save Eliza’s life. If you stayed, Olive would’ve killed you. They had one trap in that lobby, who’s to say there weren’t more? You got Hetty. Twice. And Olive. And Herman. You practically did all the work.”

“I should’ve killed Hetty. She could’ve killed us both. She _almost_ killed us both!”

Shae nodded. “That one’s true.” Nicole gave her a look, one that asked which side she was on. “There’s nothing wrong with mercy, Nicole. You don’t have to kill everyone who pulls a knife on you. Being a little human is a win.”

“Waverly has hypothermia. Is _that_ a win? If I didn’t run from Olive she wouldn’t have it and we wouldn’t be here.”

“Waverly’s not a plot in the ground. I’d say that’s a win.”

“She almost was.”

“ _Almost._ She _isn’t,_ so wh—”

“ _Almost_. That’s too much already.” She took a breath, running her hands over her face. “I can’t lose someone I care about. Not again. I can’t lose someone I—No, that’s not right. Even if we weren’t together I’d do everything I possibly could to save her. She’ll always be a beautiful person. I just happen to love her.”

She paused. The words hit her; those magnificent, magical three words. Shae didn’t speak, respectfully.

“ _Love_ her.”

Shae crossed her arms. “ ‘I’ll settle for this’ love or ‘I die when she frowns’ love?”

“Not like us. everything we wished we were. Not because it _has_ to work. Because we _want_ it to work. She makes me feel like-like-like not . . . shit.”

Shae couldn’t stifle a laugh. “ ‘Like not shit’.” Nicole grimaced. “Romantic.”

Nicole grinned, small. “You know what I meant.”

“Yeah. You should—”

Light footsteps broke her thoughts. She hoped the whole scene was in her head, not spoken aloud. Rosita was across the way; she’d never let it die. Especially the stuff about Waverly.

Oh God, she _prayed_ she didn’t speak at all.

Again, she was interrupted, a hand covered in a sleeve much too long touching her shoulder. Waverly.

“Typically dreams are best with your eyes closed. While you sleep.”

Nicole acted like she was considering it, concluding, “No way. That’s how they get you.”

“Who?”

Her eyes widened, a devil’s smile to her lips, “The cannibals.”

Waverly rolled her eyes. “Too soon. Why didn’t you come to bed?”

“I haven’t slept with two other people in a long time.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Waverly fought a grin. Awful joke.

“Especially the sister.” She breathed, “God, never involve the sister! Bad idea. _That’s_ how you die.”

Waverly giggled, swatted her with the jacket sleeve drooping past her fingers. “Stop it!”

She squatted to meet Nicole. Nicole grabbed one of her hands, pushed the sleeve back, and kissed the knuckle underneath. Warm.

“We checked. You’re at 97.0.”

Waverly kissed her forehead. “My hero.” Then she looked around. “Everyone made it back? Is Dolls okay?”

“He’s fine. He’ll heal just fine. He brought a friend. Like, _friend.”_

“I never took him for the motel-hook-ups type.”

“He’s a man of mystery.”

“Mmm.” She moved an auburn lock from Nicole’s face. “Did you sleep yet?”

“Not a wink,” Nicole said, almost proud. Maybe it was the look that always followed that brought it on, that threatening glare that spoke _Take care of yourself before I kick your ass!_

No following warning or concerned,  _Baby . . ._  Instead Waverly left suddenly, returning almost as fast with a stack of blankets. She threw all over Nicole and climbed over, resting between the seatback and a warm body. Nicole only stared.

“You need to sleep,” Waverly insisted.

“I thought you were fixed on the bed,” Nicole returned.

“Do you know how loud Wynonna snores?”

“Only when she doesn’t drink. Which is really weird."

“Yeah, it’s like her brain doesn’t know what to do.” She settled into Nicole’s side, placing her head under her girlfriend’s chin and into her neck. If there were more space she’d pull Nicole into _her_ neck. She considered flat out kicking Wynonna of out of the bed. “Now shut your gorgeous mouth and go to sleep.”

Nicole grunted her last protest and pulled Waverly closer. Waverly placed her warm-again hands under Nicole’s layers of tank top, shirt, jacket, tracing nonsense patterns about her back. She listened as Nicole’s breathing relaxed, felt her chest rise easier and hands that cradled her go lifeless.

She laughed about how she almost settled for Champ Hardy.

-

Wynonna Earp wasn’t the type who tore someone down because they looked at the same guy. She wasn’t angry or threatened by Eliza’s presence, but jealous. Jealous because she knew the intimate details of Xavier Dolls, beyond tales of a soldier and tiny bits of personal information. They had inside jokes—just yesterday they giggled forever, like children, about the color blue of all things—and they had memories spanning past mere months. They had history. A long history. Nicknames. Unspoken communication in the littlest of things, and she knew just how he liked his fish cooked, recalled a time they swam in the sea. She couldn’t compete with that.

The weirdness was felt throughout the team. It didn’t help she pushed Doc away because of his lie, refusing to even talk about it, and now he was spending too much time with Rosita. Wynonna respectfully left Waverly to hang with Nicole. Mostly she wandered the land, wondering what Willa would think of the place. How her family would act if they vacationed in the middle of nowhere. They’d probably fight the entire time. She thought of Dolls, then tried not to, because it wasn’t her business. Thought of Nicole and Waverly. Wondered how Michelle would react when they finally arrived in Sanctuary—because it _did_ exist. Her angel was grown and with the girl of her dreams. She wondered if Michelle would care about Wynonna’s screw ups in the past, or how she handled Ward, then Willa. If they’d actually _make_ it to Sanctuary.

If it was worth it.

Waverly wondered some of the same things. If Michelle would actually recognize them. Would she be proud? Would she like Nicole the way Wynonna seemed to approve? Would she tease and gossip about the details of their relationship, how they met?

Want to hear about moments like now, where Waverly sat in Nicole’s lap, leaned against her chest in a crappy old lawn chair, reading a book? How Nicole came out here for peace of mind and didn’t mind, but welcomed how Waverly strutted out and plopped down on the chair with her? How Waverly took in the easy heartbeat of Nicole, the heart that raced yesterday to exhaustion trying to get them to safety? How her own heart skipped when Nicole kissed her cheek or temple, rubbing her long fingers about Waverly’s abdomen?

How she’d already found the Sanctuary she sought, here in the silence, wrapped in Nicole Haught’s arms?


	20. Twice As Haught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooooowwwiiieee this chapter is a looott longer than I anticipated (and in hindsight should've been broken up like the others). Clocked in at almost nineteen thousand and if this section wasn't one of my favorites and if I hadn't been waiting so long to finally write it and get it out there this shit would've been HELL. 
> 
> Now, there is a TRIGGER WARNING for this one chapter only, regarding a character who's a bit emotionally abusive/manipulative to Nicole (I've personal experience with such a person and was a bit bugged here, myself, so I felt it may be worth mentioning). Nothing too terrible, but it's there and if that's a trigger please tread lightly and don't push yourself if you can't do it--story's not worth messing with your health.

She stopped at the sight before them, grin on her face as she eyed the big city. Didn’t seem special, different. Streets made into mazes by old cars, their rust, and their busted windows, glass reflecting the light in a rude, blinding shimmer. Some tall buildings, taller than anything the person holding her hand ever saw back home in Purgatory. The unknown settling in, its dangers ready to jump up from nowhere.

“I used to live here,” she, Nicole said. “I finished high school here, college, the academy.”

She gave the place another look-over before continuing on, with the rest of the team. Suddenly Waverly was excited to enter, to walk through and look around. She’d finally get the chance to hear about Nicole’s past, a subject Nicole never mentioned. In general, Nicole didn’t talk too much about herself. Waverly pressed for more, trying her best not to seem too eager and break the peace. When she did Nicole would ask about her big smile, she’d say Nicole never talks about her old life, Nicole would disagree despite being totally wrong. They’d done this dance before.

Nicole said she grew up in a city no different than here. Her parents lived in the area people too rich for small towns and too poor for big towns lived. They hovered somewhere in the middle. Here, with her brother, it was about the same. Their house wasn’t anything special. The whole thing was small enough to be an apartment, the yard about the right size to make a hamster to feel underwhelmed. Waverly pressed for more. Nicole was so nostalgic she dropped whatever walls she had up about revealing her past, whatever the reason she never talked about it was, and finally opened up.

She told Waverly her old high school was across town, close to her brother’s house. Her college was a little further, the police academy even further from there, almost an hour drive from home. She learned, probably most importantly, Nicole lived with her brother because she was kicked out. She finally worked up the nerve to come out to her parents, and they responded exactly the way she feared. So her brother dropped everything, went home, gathered Nicole’s things from the house she was banished from, grabbed his youngest sister from the friend’s house she crashed at, and moved her in with him. He even gave up a serious relationship to look after Nicole, to work more hours to keep her through school, especially seeing as her parents revoked all their savings when they disowned her. Respectfully, Nicole planned to move out the day she graduated high school. He wasn’t having it. She tried again after college. He wasn’t having it. Once she graduated the police academy her brother let her free. And immediately after she went to Vegas, drank her bottled up problems away, and married some girl overnight. Clearly he kept an eye on her for a reason. Waverly felt terrible for pushing so hard, the way Nicole’s wide grin was dying at the memory. She added Nicole’s brother was kind. Nicole agreed, saying he was nothing short of an angel. And adding, mentally, Waverly was, too.

-

Nicole took the lead in navigation. Her town, she had all the knowledge—just seemed right. Like a tour guide, she explained what went down here, why she raced home so quickly to find her brother when things went to shit. Their hospitals, no different from anywhere else, was overflowing with patients afflicted with the Cordyceps virus. No different from anywhere else. Those who were infected turned and destroyed, killed, and spread the disease to everything in their wake. The military tried to contain the casualties, until they decided the loss of supplies and soldiers wasn’t worth the cost and dipped out. Didn’t take them long to make this call. Luckily Nicole grabbed her brother by then, and they headed out to find their older sister.

But now she was wondering if, for whatever cryptic reason, the military came back. The team had traveled a good chunk of the city by now, but hadn’t seen anything. Nothing resembling the horror she witnessed seven, now eight years ago. Sure, Infected never stopped moving, but by now they should’ve seen something. Heard something. A corpse from later than 2013, at least.

-

There were plenty of stores to loot as they passed on through, most boarded up and inaccessible, others begging to see a customer just once more. They’d passed a handful of gun stores, but found all rigged with some variation of tripwire explosive, probably homemade and wildly unstable. All just before the door, to turn away trespassers before they could even _try_ a break in. Sure, the quiet was unsettling, but no one was eager to _find_ the missing Infected.

Finally, they found one they could enter. It looked like any other, boarded up windows and shelves pushed against the door to keep people out. But no traps, no defenses. In the back of the store they found a dead family. Theory: they were living here, made it through hell, then their luck ran out. They were awfully thin. Probably starved to death. One had a bullet hole through their head, rotting flesh clutching to their pistol. Sole survivor who gave in?

There was a shop next door they could lay low in for the night. Didn’t reek of death. First they’d look through this store. Couldn’t hurt to find more weapons or ammo. It was a long day of travel and everyone was ready to turn in, despite being so early in the night, the search went as quickly as possible. All but the Earps declared the place empty, seeing as it _was_ empty, cleaned out by looters or honest customers. Looters was more likely. The Earp sisters took humor in the declaration. The way their team looked around the shelves, display cases, back rooms. _So amateur,_ Wynonna remarked with all but words. Doc seemed to agree, still looking for whatever secret that seemed to only be known by Purgatorians. Dolls asked what could possibly be left to check. Earps didn’t answer, Doc didn’t answer. They all but giggled at his question, continuing their search, prying open safes for sale and moving things around. After a moment, while helping Wynonna move a shelf in the middle of the small shop, Waverly explained some gun store owners installed safes in the floor in Purgatory. Stocked with personal weapons or in-store items for personal use. The family they found wasn’t a first; many hid in their shops. A gun store seemed safer than a house, and perhaps less on the map for looters, because most people ran home, not work. Ironically. As they traveled over the years they learned this wasn’t exclusive to Purgatory. They’d found all sorts of safes or stashes deep in the ground, under shelves or display cases. Sometimes the stashes were _in_ safes for sale. That’s why they checked these, but the ones here were already opened and empty. Others were hidden for extra security. And sure enough, towards the back end of the store, Waverly spotted a safe right under a heavy shelf. Wynonna and Doc were first to head over and help, already close by. But Wynonna shoved Doc from the way, muttered something about not needing any help he has to offer. He’d broken her trust, after all. Still a huge, unresolved problem, even with it sitting in the air for almost a month now.

It was a real safe, stuffed into a hole under the floor, like most cases they saw. Waverly was already handing Wynonna her set of lock picks. Dolls asked how long she’s had them. Wynonna answered, “Early teens, why?” The speed and ease she cracked the thing open with proved it true.

Inside held multiple ammo types, a machine pistol, and a set of escrima sticks. Wynonna handed the sticks to her sister, the machine pistol to Eliza, the ammo for “King Dolls the Stoic and Hoardy”, as she’d titled him. She made sure to say something about how they seemed to pick up a fancy new gun every time they gained a new member, and how they should invite more people to their team. Maybe, eventually, they’d get a bazooka or something. Dolls felt a bit more at ease, now that Eliza had one of the extra handguns, his scoped hunting rifle, and an automatic weapon.

Then they were heading next door. Sleeping bags were laid out. Rosita immediately flopped down and started to nod off, her heavy rifle taking a bit more effort to haul. Jeremy pushed the remaining life of his GameBoy’s batteries. Dolls and Eliza settled a little too close together and giggled about something. Nicole and Waverly slapped together a setup and snuck off, as they always did. Wynonna was pulled aside by Doc, something against the usual habits.

“It has been one month, Wynonna,” he said, hushed, to keep things between them and only them.

“One month what? Since you told your last lie?” She moved to leave, but he stopped her.

“We need to talk about it. I have been givin’ you all the space you may need.” Truthful; he’d been at a respectful distance, mostly sticking by Rosita’s side these days. For almost a full month now. “But eventually we n—”

“I don’t owe you anything, Henry. Not really interested in hearing whatever dumbass reason you have for lying about seeing Sanctuary. It’s probably something along the lines of how bad you felt for Bobo on our heels, right?” He was quiet. “Thought so. I don’t need your pity, I don’t need you here because you feel bad, and I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t _need_ to talk about it. As far as I’m concerned, you could walk right off this team and I wouldn’t bat an eye.”

“Wynonna, let me—”

Something shimmered in the window, right into his eyes. He looked straight into it, for the source, for an answer.

“What the devil—”

Wynonna yanked him down just in time for a bullet to bust through the unblocked window, where his head might’ve been. “Get down, stupid!” she snarled. She crouch-walked to the others to alert them to the threat they’d been absent of today, adding, to Doc, “Oh look, now you owe me twice!” He followed, a breath and a roll of his eyes.

Their teammates were already up. Some were shoving their things back into their bags, getting weapons ready. Nicole and Waverly emerged from elsewhere, Nicole’s braid gone and her hair a mess. She threaded her fingers through to try to fix it.

“What the hell was that?” Dolls asked right off.

“Pizza delivery guy,” Wynonna snapped back, thinking the question dumb. “Thought we could use a freakin’ pizza party.”

Jeremy’s eyes went dreamy as he mouthed, _Pizza . . ._

More bullets forced themselves through the unguarded windows. In hindsight they should’ve stayed in the gun store, whether or not the stench of death filled the space. It was a mini-fortress, safe. Also in hindsight: Doc and Wynonna shouldn’t have stepped so close to the front windows. They were missing a neon sign with arrows pointing right to them. She muttered Doc owed her _three_ things now.

Nowhere to go. Dolls, Nicole, and Waverly, closest to the back, tried to pry the blocked rear entrance open. Wynonna and Doc took cover. Eliza joined the team’s snipers, with her own scoped rifle, in trying to find these attackers. No luck; any time they found a person in their crosshairs a flashlight blinded them or a bullet jumped out at them. They were inching closer, but kept a safe distance. Then nothing. Waiting, maybe? Both Jeremy and Rosita popped off a shot, one of faith. Couldn’t tell if they hit anything, and no one from the other side responded. It was as if they disappeared.

Then suddenly they heard that awful shrieking, a battle cry that would never cease to strike fear into their _souls._ No one fired. In the back Dolls, Waverly, and Nicole stopped moving. Silence was key to surviving the sound-sensitive monsters. All day they’d been in town and no sign of Infected. Now they were ready to rest for the night and the monsters showed up. Cruel, the universe was.

A bottle shattered outside the shop. Someone _threw_ it—these assholes shooting at them were leading Infected right to them! Dolls, Waverly, and Nicole got right back to work. The shelves blocking the way were finally pulled out. All they had to do now was push the door open. And of course there was something on the other side, so they were met with resistance. It peeked open far enough for Nicole and Dolls to start plotting a route. Just in time with Runners bursting through the windows. Doc shot up from behind the cashier’s counter where he hid, let off twelve perfect bullets with perfect aim, dropping twelve foes. As he did so he motioned everyone to the back exit, and together they all kicked the thing open. Doc didn’t let a single Runner near them.

Outside was an alleyway. Immediately in front of them was the back exit to other stores surrounding the one they just left, all pieces of this tiny block of the big city. None of Dolls’s plans were safe, so he looked to Nicole for help, who took the hint and led them to a quiet place. They ran opposite the side to their mystery attackers, leaving the alleyway, crossing the street, and entering another. They rounded this second alley’s corner and found an old coffee shop, front door blocked as always but a window busted clean through. Nicole vaulted through and into the building first. Her plan was to lay low here, maybe hide from the Runners definitely still on their tail until they cleared off, defeated, having lost their prey.

She gave the smaller place a check first before motioning her team in. Right as she did so someone grabbed her from behind, clicking a switchblade open. Just as Waverly trailed her new revolver on this person, others joining in, Nicole backed up into the closest wall, hard, hitting the attacker’s back so hard they lost their grip on her. She spun out right away and kneed them in the stomach, continuing to punch them wherever she could reach when they doubled over and trapped themselves between a corner. But then everyone was telling her to stop. Wynonna even yanked her off, pointing out another person in the shop with a gun aimed right for her. Such a thing only ever had one meaning. Nicole backed off, as demanded in silence, hands in the air alongside the rest of her team.

“Whoa,” she said, “whoa, okay.”

“Let’s take it easy,” Dolls tacked on. “Let’s work something out.”

The person Nicole nearly punched the lights out of laughed. Motioned for their partner to lower their weapon. They laughed again and fell into a somewhat comfortable sit, leaning against the corner for support. Coughed a bit.

“Leave ‘em."

Female voice. Slight accent. Nicole recognized it and quit eyeing the person with the gun trailed on her. She tried to keep herself from being _too_ taken, tried to make sure this person was the one she could be mistaking them for. She squinted hard in the dark, focused her flashlight. The person laughed again, relieved. She pushed herself up to stand. Nicole wanted to help but found she could only stare.

“Don’t you shoot," they said. "That’s my god damn sister.”

The two closed the gap between them and fell into an embrace, one that was short-lived with all the punching Nicole had unleashed. She apologized, but her sister had no care.

“It’s really great to see you again, Nic,” she said.

“You too, Vic.”

Her sister rolled her shoulders, held her side. “Jesus, you hit hard.”

Nicole laughed, in disbelief at the sight of her sister standing before her. “Well, I was trying to kill you.”

She looked to Nicole’s allies, letting off a small wave. “Victoria Haught. Sorry for the trouble.”

“Trouble’s still kind of after us,” Wynonna pointed out, “so maybe we should keep this train moving along?”

Victoria nodded. “That’s not the _worst_ plan I’ve heard today.” She motioned the team to follow her. “I’ve got a place nearby.”

-

Victoria declared the team friendly. Then she explained herself, not that her explanation was totally reassuring. Her _perfectly acceptable_ reasoning for attacking the team, as with all strangers, followed accordingly with her group’s one rule: kill anything that moves. Victoria explained deeper she’d rather kill tourists than help, in fear of the few bad eggs that threatened her life. Wynonna wanted to call the whole thing stupid and reckless, but, frankly, she was too tired to start a fight right now. Dolls could see the use in that—then he kicked himself; if he followed this philosophy he wouldn’t be here right now. If he managed to survive without the Earps, it’d be him and Jeremy, with Eliza food on the Tatenhills’s table weeks ago.

Afterwards Victoria gave the lay of the land, how things ran around here. She knew the area well enough. She’d visited her siblings plenty of times, even if they didn’t live in this part of town. The things she didn’t know she learned and never forgot, a skill she had that drove Nicole crazy with jealousy; Victoria never forgot. Ever. She and her group gathered the mass amount of Infected nearby and piled them into sealed-off buildings, to be released only for aiding in attacking tourists. They’d waste a couple bullets or risk making themselves known to anger the opposing party, who’d surely, boldly strike back, and here Infected were released on them. At last the inhuman creatures could make themselves useful. It made the difference now, the way Victoria’s group was suffering in a long spiral of shit luck. Their shit luck probably contributed to their need to attack anything that moved too close; better safe than sorry.

And with all this paranoia, the team expected Victoria’s place to be some well-fortified fortress, walls surrounding walls and guns mounted with more guns. In truth, her people lived in a parking garage, probably one of the most exposed places to be. Maybe that’s what made it so safe for them. What person would forage for supplies in a parking garage over the fields of shops surrounding? It was also a useful place to camp out if their Infected allies got too out of hand; hide out on one of the many levels and distract them with noise from a distance, the height allowing a wide look of the land.

Human and vehicle entrances/exits were closed off with stacks of old furniture, with only one real place to enter, right where a car would up the single ramp. All gathered wardrobes, bookshelves, dressers were filled to the brim with useless supplies, for the sake of being unmovable. There was a small nightstand stacked on a desk, identifiable from three deep scratches. It wasn’t anywhere near the center, or too close to any corners or edges, but just the right place to not be guessed. Victoria pushed the thing aside where it stood on a sturdy old wooden desk, enough room to vault over. Once everyone was over she put everything back, all but an emergency, filled, tall nightstand to stand behind it. Some of her people must’ve been out, probably herding the Runners. Its purpose was, if the spot _was_ accidentally discovered, to allow no entry. Good and bad; it kept those in the garage safe, but those who may not have made it back stranded and prey to whatever danger lurked.

They found themselves stopping on the second floor, accepting an invitation to stay here for the night. Victoria even offered dinner as a formal apology, and even though most of the team ate for the night they accepted a little something extra. Each person set strict rations, and sometimes a meal wasn’t filling enough after a long day of travel. Victoria was offering, so who were they to decline?

Her group had a dozen or so people. Most were sick, clearly, with things Dolls didn’t have cures for. Not that he’d give up what few medicines they had so easily. Cruel, but necessary. Victoria, clearly, was the leader of these people and lived on the second floor alone. Others lived higher up, a chance to run from danger if it should come. In such a situation she’d buy them extra time or terminate the threat completely. Depending on the threat level.

These people weren’t bad. Quiet, mostly, maybe tired. Sick of being sick. Some members of the team, namely the Earp sisters, were growing a real problem with Victoria. She talked to them just fine, an odd mix of professional and casual. But the way she treated Nicole seemed a little wrong. Constantly she cut her younger sister off, made fun of her in a way that wasn’t funny, bring up some old things in ways Nicole clearly wasn’t comfortable with. Wynonna _really_ wanted to start a fight. But this woman had a whole army of Infected and enough people to overpower her, so maybe that wasn’t best. Waverly made sure to comfort Nicole as subtly as possible, light touches to the arm here and there, hold Nicole’s hand, sit close. The worst part was the fact Nicole didn’t do anything about it. Like she was too afraid to say something bad, or trying to be respectful. She _was_ uncomfortable and offended at times, clear with the expressions she gave off or the restless way her fingers flexed while interlocked with Waverly’s. But she didn’t say or do a thing about it. Just sat there and took it. Wasn’t anyone’s place, so no one said anything. No matter how badly they wanted to. But there was one comment that almost made Wynonna pull Peacemaker.

Nicole asked, after requesting more details about the herd of Infected stowed away, if Victoria’s strategies here were smart. To live in such an open space. To let Infected roam so close. To even use the disease-ridden monsters in the first place. Surely it would backfire at some point.

Now, everyone knew their teammates by now. Even Eliza was familiar with her peers. So everyone was familiar with Nicole’s history, how her weapon accidentally fired and ultimately caused the death of her brother. How she left her sister, all questions why beginning to disappear, and wandered around until stumbling across Lou’s boys and joining up with them because she didn’t have anywhere else to go and they seemed to like having her around. Whether or not they were close individually, everyone knew how one another came to be after the Outbreak hit, how they ended up where they ended up, their epic origin stories. So they felt the sting Nicole did with Victoria’s response.

“I wouldn’t worry about Infected turnin' on us; everyone here knows how to use their safety.”

In reference to the late Michael Haught. In reference to Nicole’s grandest fuck up,  the one that kept her awake at night the most. Respectfully, they kept silent. Looked away. Focused on whatever thing rested in their hands. For Waverly it was the way Nicole tensed, then almost dropped her hand from their joined grip, going completely numb for a second. Victoria told her to loosen up; only a joke. So Nicole gave a fake laugh. Waverly rubbed her back. Wynonna changed the subject.

There was gym equipment huddled into one corner of the second floor of the garage, from punching bags to small dumbbells to one, rusting barbell. Victoria claimed the setup was always here, meaning someone lived here before. The barricades were here already, too, open wide. Like said someone rushed out of here in a hurry. They never returned, so she always assumed the garage was under new ownership: hers. She offered the set to the team for whatever training they might need, the earlier excitement keeping them from the sleep they craved so when they settled before. Dolls nearly jumped up from where he sat. He said he’d get a _proper_ training session in, one better than the tips he gave his mates while they were holed up, waiting out blizzards. Namely when they were still stuck in the lake house waiting for him to heal. He was supposed to be resting and decided the best way to spend his time was to train his teammates—the ones who _weren’t_ taken by cannibals in the middle of nowhere. Or maybe the situation was what made him so keen to try to give real lessons. Maybe he did so because he feared the idea of them being helpless, or exposed even in the slightest bit. Including Doc—because he didn’t know about the lie.

-

Dinner was finished. The rest of Victoria’s group returned to the floors above. Team Earp took over the mini-gym for Dolls’s lesson, encouraged by Eliza and shot down by Wynonna, who suddenly agreed when Eliza said she was all for it. She wasn’t sure why.

But before it could all start, Victoria, standing next to Nicole and near the open view of the garage, spotted some Runners roaming around. She swore; she’d gotten so caught up in reuniting with Nicole she forgot to actually _tell_ someone else to handle it tonight. Why her partner in the field didn’t speak up was a mystery (With an easy solve: when they tried to talk she cut them off to continue talking to her sister, a person she was also busy cutting off). And by the looks of it, there were some newbies who might’ve blown in from other parts of town when gunshots echoed about the night, killing the area’s lengthy silence.

The team offered to help. The job sounded easy: move the stragglers, get out. And frankly, they had manners. But Victoria was used to handling these things, she explained, alone, occasionally with an extra set of eyes. At “extra set of eyes”, she turned to her sister.

“Though I’d love to have _you_ watch my back. Little sister-sister team?”

Waverly was still holding Nicole’s hand, so she felt her tense at the proposition. Still, Nicole was Nicole; “Sure, I’ll go.”

Waverly couldn’t ignore the clear discomfort. And Nicole wasn’t great around Infected. “Just you two?” she asked. “Is that enough?”

Victoria was already gathering her things. Already gathering Nicole’s things, too. “Two’s fine,” she said. “Especially when they’re _us_ two.” She motioned Nicole over, and Nicole stood without question, despite the unease visible to everyone except her own sister. “Well,” she went on, “there could be one problem. You still see mental shit, Nicky?”

Wynonna choked on her drink. Dolls cleared his throat uncomfortably, Doc stared into his own hat, removed. Waverly felt the words’ impact, as if aimed at her and not Nicole.

Nicole’s jaw clenched. Her fingers opened and closed something, nothing. She gave a laugh, no humor, all nerves. “Uh, no. Well, not so much anymore. Only with Runners. But not too bad. Not as bad as it used to be.” Victoria clapped her shoulder so hard she jumped.

“Atta girl. Don’t screw up and we’ll be fine.”

Victoria was off. Nicole stood still a second, then tossed her team a parting glance. Wynonna was at her side, standing, before she could manage a step, holding out a knife. Victoria stopped.

“Machetes take too long for stealth kills,” Wynonna clarified. “I’d rather you go with something smaller.”

Victoria answered, “It’s okay. She don’t need it.”

Nicole didn’t formally answer, only accepted the one provided and made to leave. So Wynonna grabbed her arm.

“Take it,” she persisted.

Nicole refused with a short gesture, eyeing Victoria as she walked off. “I’ll be fine.”

She was prepped for takeoff, but again she was stopped, this time by a kiss from the team’s other Earp, the one who held her heart.

“Be safe,” she said, both a demand and a plea.

For once Wynonna didn’t mock them and tell them to knock it off. Nicole didn’t savor it, only looked to her own sister, walking off without interruption. Like if she didn’t follow, Victoria would do something terrible.

Nicole spared a rushed _I will_ before leaving, moving fast to catch up. Wynonna muttered something about wishing Victoria would stay for their training session, so she could take her for a spin.

-

The job was simple, but Nicole still had to amp herself up. Namely when the sight unfolded itself.

She and Victoria overlooked a big-enough bookstore from another stack of furniture, piled by Victoria for this purpose. Nicole wished she could take a quick trip inside and grab some more books for Waverly, who easily plowed through her small collection three times over. Victoria surveyed the area, made a plan in her head, and motioned Nicole to move. Closer to the store. On the ground. Behind concrete dividers. Sure, cars boxed the little area in, but she still felt exposed. Especially in the dark, where surprises cropped up more than day, and with little light to plan a safe escape. She didn’t like this, but her sister needed someone to watch her back, so she said nothing. She wouldn’t have some sick guy coughing up a storm, or Victoria at it alone. Even if this was stupid, in her opinion.

Both siblings were tall, Victoria somehow tall enough to make Nicole look short, so they really strained their backs to stay down and out of sight. With a flashlight Victoria indicated glass bottles gathered around them. She also pulled poppers, fireworks, from her pockets. Explained they needed to lure Runners into the store, get closer as they did so (against Nicole’s belief they’d hang back), and shut the place tight. Definitely not as easy as Nicole’d pictured. More hands-on, too.

Victoria showed her the route she always stuck to. More concrete dividers were moved around, alongside more weighted-down dressers, fitting snug around stray cars to form a perfect “U”. From their box they led Runners to the goal, easily, with only one firework wasted. They jumped into action the second the thing slapped against the ground. Victoria jumped over the dividers and snaked along the path of dressers, a bit taller and easier to duck behind. Nicole followed. Victoria continued the noisemaking, Nicole watched her blindside. Tried not to get too freaked out when warned not to kill a single one, no matter how close they got.

And one did get too close.

Victoria let up her ruckus to move along, closer to the store’s entrance. Most of the herd was here, some stragglers inspecting other places for the source of the noise, numbers growing the longer the silence lingered. A single Runner suddenly appeared on the other side of the dresser. The sisters ducked as low as possible. Victoria kept an eye out, kept sneaking along. Behind her, Nicole’s eyes screwed shut. Runner was way too close for comfort. She became more mindful of her gun. Where was it? Was her hand empty? She couldn’t tell. Then there was the groaning. The all-human, pained groans and grunts, the small little shouts directed at nothing and everything. This creature—this human was too much like them. Like her sister. Her friends. Her Waverly. The ones who took her brother. The ones who took Shae. Like Shae, who could be one of them.

Her breath caught.

_Eyes on me._

She put the contents in her hand down, gently, because if she continued to shake like this she’d drop them and blow this all to shit. Again. Like before. Like the last time she was with her family.

_Don’t think about that. They’re okay. You’re okay._

Waverly’s voice. Waverly’s words.

But she wasn’t here. Nicole looked around, stroked her own arms as she panted, heavy. She couldn’t feel Waverly’s touch, hear her voice, have Waverly hold her close and whisper easy words into her ear.

A firework popped. The Runner left. She thought so, a small part of her did. The bigger parts wouldn’t let her check.

She mumbled something, the same something: “They took Michael.”

_He’s okay now. He’s safe. Away from all this._

“Shae’s at the hospital.”

_And she’s fine. She’s getting the cure, so we’ll all be okay. She’s helping us all._

She could feel it now, the ghost of Waverly’s touches, the kisses to the head. Promises they’d be safe.

They were safe.

Nicole was safe.

She breathed, as Waverly would want. Long breaths in and out. She opened her eyes, found the world around her, dark and cold and unforgiving. More so when alone. Her flashlight shined on nothing, just the empty street. She looked around. No Waverly, just the memory of her, the wish she was here. The dresser pressed against her back, where she sat. She was sitting? She looked across the way. Victoria was still focused on the task, ducking low again. She didn’t notice her sister’s absence? Yes, she’d gotten used to that, but how the hell didn’t she know?

Nicole breathed, long. Returned a glass bottle to her hand. Two Runners were hovering around Victoria’s position. Victoria was close. Nicole eyed the store. One of the double doors wide open, a car blocking the other, some Runners roaming inside. She aimed carefully, thoughtfully, and threw. The bottle shattered right against the wooden door. Runners yelled and chased the sound, to bite it, attack it, kill it, infect it, spread the pain. Victoria got a move on. She knew she was close. She looked around. All were in place. She threw two poppers inside the store, and again the herd shouted as one and made for the _pop._ Victoria dashed from cover and slammed the door shut. Some saw her and thrashed against the door, threatening to kick it down. Nicole rushed over. Victoria indicated that small black car on her left. Driver’s door was open, gear was in neutral. Nicole dropped her restricting backpack and rifle from her shoulders and forced every ounce of strength into moving the damn thing forward. Victoria joined when enough of the door was forced closed, and helped along the remaining space.

“Wow,” she said, “good thing you were here. They never see me. The door wouldn’t’ve held long enough.” She grabbed Nicole’s bag, clapped her shoulder. “Not bad.” Nicole took her things, a smile escaping her. “Not bad.”

-

Again they were off, but not to the garage. Victoria neglected to mention a second task, and Nicole remained only to see to her sister’s safety. Along the way, right after closing in those Runners, she said she picked the bookstore because “anyone looking for books at a time like this deserves what’s inside”. Added how boring bookworms are. Nicole disagreed, fully. Victoria didn’t care.

Couple more blocks, standing at the end of a filled yet vacant parking lot, was a massive office building occupied by a bank. One of Nicole’s old girlfriends worked here, and when their epic, two-month relationship came to an ugly close she decided it was best to switch banks. Turns out the girl was bisexual and started seeing Michael. Worst dinner ever.

Despite the huge chunks missing on multiple floors and of multiple sizes, the building still presented itself proudly, as bold and elite. Some surrounding buildings twinned in damages, namely the ones circling the hospital down the way. This multi-story tower belonging to the parking lot was slanted over, ready to fall if winds blew too hard. Nicole asked, Victoria answered: military rolled back into town, took over the hospital. _Now_ they deemed the place worthy of blowing resources, because they needed specimens to test potential cures. First they cleared the hospital, deployed airstrikes in the vicinity to filter down Infected to a manageable number. Proved further they believed people were only worth saving if they provided something valuable. The reason Victoria refused to go to a quarantine zone. But if they had, maybe things would be different for the Haught siblings.

This place was the hour’s destination because it was where she kept Clickers. The big guns. The cavalry when things got seedy. She was herding some newcomers into the bank when her people unleashed Runners on Team Earp. Gunfire forced her away, before she could finish. Luckily she’d already rounded them up, but the second part of her task hadn’t been completed yet. They wandered in from elsewhere, who knows where, as Infected always did. Not that these sisters were strangers to that concept.

They rounded the place, to the back. Victoria’s unfinished business included weeding out the weaker of her crew here, the odd ones who were missing limbs or injured in other ways. She’d been meaning to get to it for a while, always putting it off or other inconveniences pulling her away, including earlier tonight. But Nicole was here, ready to help, so what better time than now?

Here, in the back, the sisters accessed the second floor with the fire escape. Nicole only missed Waverly, recalling the time her girlfriend couldn’t unstick a ladder, and how Nicole did so easily when she accidentally hit her head against it. It actually lifted her mood a bit. Until she mentioned being a little nervous about the whole situation here, and Victoria told her to “grow up for a bit”. She cursed herself for saying anything. Missed Waverly and her own team more. Mostly, Victoria added to look good, she trusted Nicole more than her own people. As always, it tricked Nicole into feeling better. Just how Victoria worked.

The building was worse on the inside; outside made it seem totally together. Metaphor for a damaged person, Nicole thought. It looked like the military might’ve dropped some bombs inside, too, the way the ceiling sunk through floor after floor and straight to ground level. From the gaping hole in the center of the second floor Nicole could see the ruined marble tiles, once cleaned and waxed to all hell, covered in debris, dust, and restless, faceless Clickers. And, curiously, a huge, elaborate rope system. Pulleys—for what, exactly?

For this.

So this wasn’t the first time Victoria had to weed out the weak. A makeshift cart rested on the ground floor, with a track to reach the third floor, above. Other ropes controlled a maze-like setup, where large pieces of wood could move to manipulate accessibility. To lead the right targets onto the lift. Not bad. While Victoria looked over the place, plotting, Nicole finally took the chance to ask the questions she’d been meaning to:

“How long have you been here?”

Victoria didn’t break focus. “Few weeks. Almost a month.”

Nicole snorted, “Almost a month ago I was being chased by cannibals in a forest.”

“Where _did_ you find these people? You stayed, too. I thought you didn’t like strangers.”

Nicole recalled when the Outbreak first started, how she took charge over her siblings, youngest or not. Biggest rule: don’t talk to strangers. She decided who they talked to, who to trust. These days Victoria took this rule a step too far.

“Not as much as you hate them,” she replied. Victoria nodded, agreeing, seeing nothing wrong in attacking every single person to enter her turf. “They just make me nervous.”

“And those jokers?”

Nicole grinned, remembering the day she met Waverly, how they fought side by side and never stopped. Where she’d be without the Earps and their grand adventure. She put simply, “I felt a connection with them. Staying felt right.” She decided to leave the full story for later, if Victoria was interested. “Why’d you come back?”

Now she spared some eye contact, looking back and forth between her little sister and Infected below. “I was driftin’ around, ‘til I realized I was close to Mike’s. My people needed to lay low, so I humored a trip.” She turned fully to Nicole, and fell serious. “I went to Michael’s house. Whole place was trashed. Some Runners were pokin' around so I cleared ‘em. But the drones hit it hard.”

“Damn.” A small laugh left Nicole. “With all those home improvement projects he did, he’d be furious.”

“Yeah,” Victoria chuckled. “All his memorabilia was fine, of course, so he’d be happy about that.”

“Of course it was fine; he wrapped it all in steel plates and bullet-proof boxes.”

A laugh, then they got down to business. Six Clickers needed to be removed. Two were missing legs, three arms, and one sported a cleaver burrowed deep in their back. Nicole instinctively made sure her knife was ready, accidentally checking her back pocket instead of the holster by her side. She should’ve been used to that damn machete by now. She paused. Her back pocket was empty when she left, wasn’t it? She smiled as it hit her; Wynonna slipped the knife into her jeans.

Then she was across the room, helping Victoria lure Clickers, one by one into the cart and up onto the level above, raising and lowering all sorts of ropes. Above, the third floor, they’d get out their anger at all the commotion. Easier to handle all at once, Nicole guessed. It also helped some of them tried to chase the noise of the cart leaving, ran full speed, and fell to their deaths. Sometimes fearing these creatures was difficult.

It was a long process. Nicole wished they brought a sniper along. It’d be easier, faster, less painful than pulling and holding wooden boards and a heavy metal cart. By the time they finished her arms, shoulders, abs, everywhere burned. She’d never imagined getting to work out like this ever again, nothing past pushups and crunches. Nothing she missed, truly.

There was another pulley and cart rig for them to ascend. The fire escape was too damaged to use on this level, only miracles holding the lower one securely. Couple Clickers were smart enough to not accidentally kill themselves. Unfortunately. But Victoria, quiet the whole time, oddly, stopped Nicole just before the mechanism. She revealed why she didn’t want Nicole to accept Wynonna’s knife (a secret Nicole would keep to herself): she wanted to hand over her prized switchblade. A symbol she forgave Nicole for Michael’s death. Why she waited until now was a mystery. To make sure Nicole wouldn’t kill Runners earlier? What did it matter—she had a pistol and hunting rifle and a machete. Or maybe it was a _reward_ for not doing anything rash. Then Victoria, as always, ruined it; “At least you’re less crazy now.”

They still hadn’t climbed up. Victoria took a moment to give Nicole a lay of the land, because Clickers almost always caught onto the personal elevator and charged over before it could even _reach_ the third floor. Made another tasteless “joke” about Nicole, guns, and the safety. But she stopped mid-description, deeming the briefing enough anyway, noting the way Nicole fussed about her hair. Third time she redid the ponytail. Once on the way to the bookstore, once on the way to this bank.

“What happened to the braid?” she asked. “Come to think of it, where’s that dumb ol’ Stetson?”

Nicole’s mind raced back to earlier, just before Victoria’s people attacked. She and Waverly snuck off to kiss, kiss, kiss, so passionately it was practically a battle, of sorts. Waverly grabbed at her hair, so strongly she accidentally pulled some strands out. Nicole took the whole thing apart, because she figured they were done for the night. She only took it down because Waverly felt bad for “ruining” it.

“I didn’t feel like it today,” she answered a little too fast, a little to defensively, a little too red in the face. She cleared her throat. “And I lost the hat in a river, going after Waverly.”

“Huh,” Victoria nodded, “painted that girl as a klutz.”

“Oh no,” Nicole laughed, “that’s me.”

Victoria shook her head. “Nah, that’s just a little bad luck.” She stepped off, closer to the lift. “I still have my kit. Haircuts for your friends, if you want.”

That was perfect; Victoria was a licensed hairstylist before. Dolls was flat-out terrible. Basically, all he could do was shave with razors, because that’s how he cut his own, buzzed hair. Wynonna promised it was best she didn’t go anywhere near someone’s neck with scissors, and cut her own hair, when tangled beyond recognition, with her own knife. And they _did_ , indeed have scissors. Waverly, perhaps _too_ on the nose, couldn’t cut straight. Rosita feared making her subject look too terrible to take seriously. Jeremy sneezed once and almost took Waverly’s head off, so he lost his chance permanently, revoked by Wynonna. Doc was the best one, his fingers nimble, but that didn’t mean he had a clue what he was doing. So of course Nicole accepted the offer.

“As for the Stetson,” Victoria added, “I say farewell. Ugly old thing.”

Nicole defended, “It was police issue.” She sighed, eyes remembering an easier time. Not a perfect time, but much easier than now. “I miss my time as a cop, as short as it was. No damn zombies back then.”

Victoria readied the ropes. Nicole took the hint to step inside. “Some officer you were. Didn’t you leave, like a zebra chased by a lion?”

Nicole faulted in her movement, simple yanking of rope. Another “joke” that sat as well as sour milk.

-

Only three Clickers remained. Two were the legless wonders, crawling about the ground, one the cleaver-sporting fashion star. As expected, Victoria took the injured two, sent Nicole to handle the able opponent. Nicole first tested her new switchblade against her own forearm, with tiny pokes of the tip. It’d do nicely. And it did, the way it eased into the faceless disease-carrier’s exposed, human neck, flesh running red with proof this vessel had a person inside, said corrupted person left to writhe, bleed out, and die on the ground.

She turned. Victoria lured one of the injured pair away and pinned them, stomping a boot to their teeth, chomping at nothing, and plunged a blade into their neck. Nicole took the third guillotine-style with her machete. The machete’s previous owner once tried the same technique with her.

-

On the way back, finally over with this business, Victoria demanded the river tale—how Waverly fell in, why she might’ve fallen in. The story, in full, only raised more questions, worried her. But no time now, because now they were back at the garage entrance, ready to move that stand and hop over to the other side. They did so, put everything back, and planned to head in and finally rest for the night. Rest apparently impossible today, Victoria stopped Nicole instead.

“Hey,” she reached into her pocket, “got somethin’ for you.”

“More presents? I know my birthday just passed, but—”

Nicole stopped at the item being pushed to her. Small, silver, a diamond shining on the ensemble, like nothing in their world could affect it. She remembered this band. Her grandparents passed down rings to her siblings, and she was supposed to get her parents’. For the love of their lives, someday, or to pass on to their kids. Then she came out and her parents disowned her, no ring to symbolize eternal love and all that. Fitting; they had no respect for her idea of love. So Michael bought a new one to pass on to Nicole himself, in their place. She never got to use it, the way she and Shae got married. Still, he kept it, for them to pass on to their kids one day. Then things changed again when Shae died. Michael packed the essentials when he was forced to flee town. He deemed the ring essential. When he died he was without his backpack, dropped as he ran from Infected. Victoria picked it up, and evidently she kept the ring, maybe some other prized possessions of his. Nicole wanted to kick herself, because she’d completely forgotten about it.

“You’re not gonna take it?” Victoria asked, noting Nicole’s hesitance. She rolled her eyes and forced it into her little sister’s palms.

“I’m sorry,” Nicole said, quiet. She cleared her throat, closed her fingers around the ring. “I’m sorry,” she tried again. “I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry about Michael.”

Victoria’s reaction, cool and almost as if the words hadn’t hit her, was a surprise. It was the first time Nicole apologized. The first time they really touched up on what happened—calmly. Nicole thought maybe she didn’t hear.

“Don’t worry about it.” She did. She resumed their walking, back up the ramp to meet the others. She broke the silence, “You’ll probably need a girlfriend first, though. A long-term one. Not a hook-up, not an accidental Vegas girl.”

“I do.” Nicole grinned the shocked way her sister eyed her. “It’s no fling, either.”

A realization hit Victoria. “It’s that Wynonna, ain’t it? That’s why she wanted you to have that knife so bad? Hey, good choice, Nicky.”

“No,” Nicole corrected a bit too fast. The idea of being with Wynonna was a bit unsettling. “No, Wynonna’s just a good friend. A great friend.”

“Rosita? I knew you liked ‘em military types.”

“Waverly.” Nicole couldn’t hide—didn’t want to hide—her wide grin. But it died anyway, the way Victoria scoffed, disapprovingly.

“ _She’s_ your pick? The one who almost got you killed in a river, like you just told me?”

“Hey. I really like her.”

“It wasn’t the only time, was it?”

“We’ve gotten into squabbles along the way.”

With the universe’s worst possible timing, the sisters neared the team on the second floor just as Waverly lost her training session, armed with the new escrima sticks. Didn’t convince Victoria:

“You really want the one usin’ sticks to have your back?”

Nicole defended, “My dumb fear of Runners is the danger here, not her.”

“Whatever,” Victoria said, walking off. “At least she’s hot.”

Nicole sighed where she stood. “She’s beautiful. Inside and out.”

Victoria approached the team, offering her promise of haircuts to all but Doc and Wynonna, who were absent from the scene. At the sight of Victoria approaching, Waverly scraped herself off the ground and all but sprinted over to check on Nicole.

“Hey,” she said, out of breath from her session, stopping only to kiss Nicole, “are you okay? Any trouble?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. I almost lost my cool, but I kept it together.”

Waverly moved some strands from Nicole’s face, a smile on her own. “That’s great, baby. I’m proud of you.”

Nicole rolled her shoulders. “I could use a massage, though. What happened to Wynonna and Doc? They’re gone again.”

“They’re off talking again. And pretending everything’s alright even though that is a clear lie. Like Jeremy saying he doesn’t have a huge crush on Doc.”

-

Dolls’s training session . . . happened. Not the way he’d like, maybe, but it happened. Started off okay. The rule was disarm him and earn the rest of the night off; you lose, you stay; learn to protect yourself when unarmed. He’d been pushing these types of lessons, verbally, ever since the Tatenhills fiasco. So everyone participated in the hopes of finally shushing Dolls’s obvious anxiety. Whether they wanted to or not.

Eliza jumped up first. Still a bit rusty from her weeks stuck in the Tatenhills’s basement and somewhat uneventful time afterwards, but passed nonetheless. Rosita refused to participate. She was a soldier—she didn’t _need_ the pointers, the lessons. Dolls insisted, so she stood and floored him practically with a flick of her wrist. Wynonna felt confident so she jumped up. She lost a few times, eventually turning to name-calling and verbal distractions, but no luck. She caught the amused look on Doc’s face and volunteered him next, his turn or not. He wasn’t laughing for long. In fact, with each loss he suffered he only became more and more angry, until finally he stormed off. Wynonna followed, feeling a little guilty. Waverly went next, eager to try those new escrima sticks. She offered the safe word, “tacos are tasty”, jokingly, but found herself using it when she got a little too cocky. By then Nicole and Victoria had entered, and now Jeremy and Dolls were going at it, about as well as the Earp sisters’ reign. By the time Rosita, Eliza, and Waverly got their hair done Wynonna had returned, storming off for some quiet. Waverly spotted Doc walking back, too, only to grab his things and walk off. Not good.

She raced over. Caught him right as he strode onto the first floor, bottom of that ramp, and farther, ultimately, the exit. She forced him to a halt, demanding, simply, “Stop!” She got him to admit he was quitting the team, revoking his membership. She tried to argue, unsure of this sudden feeling, uneducated of his secret. So he told her. His heart broke from her expression. He prepped mentally for another verbal ass-kicking from a second Earp, but nothing. Instead, as Waverly always did, she put someone else first; she asked if Wynonna knew. Wynonna _had_ to know, the way they were fighting, but Waverly had to be sure. Of course the answer was yes. She gave the same expression as before, as the questions traced through her head. Biggest being  _Why? Why’d you lie?_ She didn’t get to ask, because Doc was explaining,

“I have blown my purpose here.”

Waverly wasn’t having it, new guy or not. Shady liar or not. “Doc—”

“I am here to make amends for Bobo on your heels and Willa in the ground. I lied to protect Wynonna further, but I could see the damage it would cause if she finally gets to her destination and finds nothin'. I came here to heal, and instead I’ve hurt. It’s best if I go before I hurt again.”

“It’s suicide!” Her words stopped his tracks shortly after they resumed. “I mean, you’re a great shot and all, but it’s too dangerous to go at it alone.”

“Well, I am a gambler, Waverly. A good one, at that. Risks are my natural bein'.” He tipped his hat farewell, but she wasn’t willing to quit.

“We need you Henry. _She_ needs you.”

“She has Dolls. I know how she looks at him, how she feels about him and Miss Shapiro. All I had to offer was this, and I’ve blown it. So she needs me no more.”

She tried again, “You’re a part of the team! One of us. We all need you. We’re a family, aren’t we?”

Finally, he turned from the exit to face her. “We are eight people goin’ in the same direction.” Some heat to his words. “One day we won’t be a team anymore, so what’s so wrong about me leavin’ early?”

He could’ve added more. Waverly could’ve added more. Neither did. Doc left, as he wished, muttering his hope they’d make it and Sanctuary would be everything they hoped and everything he painted it to be. Then he asked she’d let him go, unfollowed, out of respect to his wishes. Waverly didn’t _want_ to watch him leave, but he did, and she did. She stood there, stuck.

She stood there, stuck, because he was right. They were eight people going the same way. Someday they wouldn’t be a team anymore, not after they found what they needed. She’d have Wynonna and Nicole—she _hoped_ Nicole was staying and could stay with them in Sanctuary—and Mama, later. But everyone else, these people she’d traveled so far with and fought alongside, they’d be done someday, someday soon. No different from friends in high school leaving for different universities. Actually, _very_ different; she’d miss these people. She had a bond with these people. She _dreaded_ the thought of saying goodbye someday.

-

Waverly’s jaw fell so fast and for so long she swore it detached completely. She stared, eyes unsure how to look away or how to blink, as Nicole approached her. Her hair was freshly cut, now stopping just past her chin. Clearly, Waverly’s expression made her uneasy, how she started to rub at her neck.

“I wanted to try something new,” she said. Waverly was unmoved, as if stuck in ice. “It’s bad, isn’t it? I didn’t—”

“NO!” Waverly cleared her throat, attempted to recompose herself. Some looked over at her accidental, loud outburst. “You—I—” Her eyes darted around wildly. “You look—Come with me.”

She grabbed Nicole’s hand, perhaps too tight, and yanked her along so fast even her long legs couldn’t keep up. Waverly stopped them next to a stairwell and on the inside of an elevator, where she fell against a wall and pulled Nicole close. She pulled her in for a kiss, locking her fingers deep into Nicole’s newly-cut locks.

“I approve . . .” she said between kisses, “ . . . very . . . very . . . much.”

Nicole grinned, making their kisses a little messy. “I should’ve cut it short a long time ago, then.”

She pulled Waverly closer, who in turn did the same. Waverly pulled back a second to suggest to Nicole they sneak off to somewhere more private, maybe another floor, but the words never left her. Instead she looked past Nicole, who followed her gaze to find Wynonna, arms crossed and eyes daggers. They couple were paralyzed by her stare, a look so strong they—Nicole, mostly—feared the _real_ End Times were here. The Outbreak was a child’s game in its wake. Finally, Wynonna told them to “knock that shit off” before returning to the stairwell to sulk in peace, as she so often did these days. Then Nicole was clearing her throat and making to leave, face as red as her hair, muttering something about getting the tent set up. Waverly didn’t join, not now, because the subject of Doc was still on the table of never-ending problems. She couldn’t believe she actually let him leave. And here she thought drama ended with high school.

“Doc told me about his lie,” Waverly said, draping herself over the guardrail as Wynonna did, overlooking the silence before them, once a lively city with hours of traffic and honking horns. Truly, the city _did_ sleep. “I’m really sorry. I know it means a lot to you.”

Wynonna tapped the rail impatiently, only stopping to speak. “It means a lot to you, too. I should’ve told you. You’re not mad, are you?”

“No, I’m not. I kind of wish I didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry I put so much on it. Got your hopes up and all.” She looked to her sister, the one thing she had left in the world. “We should’ve stayed with Bobo. Not travel blindly and get shot at pretty much everywhere we go.”

“Bobo was crazy.”

“Bobo was safe.”

“Nothing’s really safe, though.” She bumped their shoulders. “You taught me that.”

“I said it because I was mad. I didn’t think it’d be so relevant.” The sisters stared over the messy streets a moment, then, “Doc left, didn’t he?”

“I tried to stop him. He said if he’d ruined things with you then there’s no point staying. He asked me to let him go. I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry.”

“That’s a dumbass excuse, Henry. Jesus, I didn’t think he’d actually leave. Fucking drama queen.”

“You okay?”

Wynonna sighed. “I don’t know what I’m feeling. Not for a while now. Except really wanting to punch Nicole’s bratty sister. That’s a definite.” Waverly nodded in agreement. “I _hate_ how she talks to Haught. Er, Nicole.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“If she does that shit again I’m saying something. If Nicole won’t defend herself, I will. Big sister can fight me if that’s a problem.”

Waverly smiled small, appreciative. “I will happily join you.”

Wynonna gave a dreamy look, painting the scene in her head. “A classic Earp sister ass kicking.” She bumped her little sister’s shoulder. “Don’t you change your mind.” Wynonna’s enthusiasm died a second. “Seriously, it’s like how Willa used to treat you. I can’t stand it.”

“I didn’t fight back, either,” Waverly recalled.

“Yeah, well Willa was scary sometimes. Older Haught is tall, but she doesn’t have that scowl.”

Waverly remembered with a generous chuckle, “I hated that.”

“Why don’t you go check in with your girl? I’ll give you some alone time. Just enough to suck face. Face—nowhere else.”

Waverly spared a laugh. “I can—I can stay, if you want.”

Wynonna’s eyes found Dolls, now training again with Eliza. Jeremy got off the hook because his fancy hair appointment was next. Then her eyes found the exit sign mounted to the ceiling. “Go. One of us should have a non-screwed up romantic thingamajig.” Waverly gave a look, one that asked again if she was sure. “Go on, I’ll be there in a few.”

-

Tent was set. Sleeping bags and mountain of blankets strewn across the concrete. Nicole on her back, eyes closed and tucked in. Waverly smiled, zipped the flap shut. Made her way over quietly, thinking naïvely Nicole actually fell asleep so fast. When she was close enough she saw the peeked-open eyes trained on her, how they shut closed quick to avoid detection. They didn’t.

“And here I thought you were sleeping,” Waverly said. Nicole smirked, eyes still shut.

“Maybe I enjoy watching you work,” she returned, smooth. Waverly rolled her eyes.

“Is that right?”

Nicole and her dumb smirk hummed in agreement, cut short when Waverly pulled the blankets back. Nicole’s eyes shot open to protest, to ask questions as Waverly pulled her to rest on her stomach. No questions left her lips, only a happy groan as Waverly’s nimble fingers slipped under her shirts and onto her skin, kneading her aching flesh like dough.

“Damn,” she breathed as Waverly settled on her downturned thighs, hands working magic.

“It so happens,” Waverly replied for earlier, “I like watching you work, too.” She leaned her lips closer to Nicole’s ear. “But sometimes I have to fill in the blanks.”

Nicole groaned again, a different type of pleasure now. Waverly kissed her cheek and got back to work. She wondered just what the hell Victoria put her through, because _damn_ was her back in bad shape. Or was it always this tensed up?

“Hey, are Wynonna and Doc okay?” Speaking of tense.

“God, how much time do you have?”

“All the time you need.”

Always there, always ready to listen, help. Waverly didn’t fight her smile. She gave a short answer—Doc lied, Wynonna’s a bit crushed. Nicole asked Waverly if _she_ was okay. Of course she asked. She always asked. Waverly wasn’t sure. She wished she didn’t know about the whole ordeal, the fear bubbling up inside they’d travel so long and fight so hard to find nothing. Destroyed part of land, raided beyond recognition. No answers about her family. No Mama. The person she missed all her life. The person who’d probably done a better job than Ward—at everything from putting literal food on the table to actually looking after her kids in the real-life apocalypse. Waverly didn’t answer, because she didn’t have one. She examined the sight in front of her instead, Nicole Haught happy, relaxed, listening as always. Away from her Willa-cold sister.

“You know,” she said to her girlfriend below, “all these shirts are making it difficult to work. Really restrictive.”

“Waverly Earp, are you trying to get me to strip down?”

“Maybe.”

“How much time do you have?”

Waverly smirked, smart. “All the time you need.”

Mood: killed. Victoria appeared outside, asking for a word with Nicole. If it wasn’t one sister it was the other. Nicole, limp and half asleep and drunk on relaxed bliss, muttered a confirmation and a promise of being out in a couple minutes. She didn’t really mean it, just answering to shut Victoria up, the way she flopped onto her back and closed her eyes. She pulled Waverly to rest next to her.

“Aren’t you going?” Waverly asked. Nicole only pulled her closer, and Waverly laughed at the pout on her face.

“I want to cuddle my girlfriend in peace.”

Waverly broke free and sat up. Nicole groaned, in no way as pleasurable as before. “Baby, don’t stand her up!” Nicole grunted in protest, started rubbing her eyes. “Baby, don’t rub your eyes.” Nicole grunted again, not stopping. “Baby, don’t rub your eyes!” Another grunt.

“I’ll do whatever I want with my eyes.”

“Except for see.” Nicole’s hands finally let up, falling at the sides of her head. She grunted again. Waverly kissed her; she couldn’t resist. “Don’t pout.” So Nicole pouted the most exaggerated way possible. So Waverly stole another kiss.

“That’s not fair.”

“What?”

“You can’t kiss me when I’m trying to be grumpy. Sometimes a girl needs to sulk.”

Wynonna was living proof of that. “Don’t be so cute and I won’t kiss you.”

She joined Waverly in a sit, kissed her, and moved to stand. “I’ll go talk to my dumb sister.”

-

A small campfire wasn’t the only thing gleaming off Wynonna’s beer bottle and cold blue eyes. She paid no attention to Rosita sleeping nearby, or the mashing of buttons from Jeremy’s GameBoy, still equipped with strong batteries that shouldn’t have any sort of charge after seven years of nothing. How he escaped Dolls’s lesson unnoticed was a mystery.

Actually, it was pretty simple.

The way Dolls laughed— _laughed_ —each misstep, each time he lost or claimed victory. Gave excuses or mocked Eliza’s. How he more stared into her eyes than actually focused on what he was doing. It was bizarre, really, to see him so relaxed with someone, so vulnerable, so un-soldier-like.

Something to rival, because Wynonna was hit constantly with the realization she liked Dolls. _Liked_ Dolls, as a nervous teen in high school, the ones she made fun of because the whole idea just seemed so silly. They’re just a person, she used to scoff, what makes them so special, cause nerves to go all over the place? Well now she was the dumb teen with a thumping heart who couldn’t ask the cool guy to prom. So stupid. He’s just a person. What made him so special?

A whole world of things.

She’d hooked up with Doc, sure, but that’s all it was. A hook up, a feeling of refreshment, then walking it off and going about life. She didn’t feel anything, never did. She got what she wanted and moved on. That’s all there was to it, right? That was her experience. Commitment and boring conversations were for boring people with nothing better to do. For the most part—different concerning her sister. As long as she was happy, not miserable, like with Champ.

Dolls was different. They went hunting every morning possible. Watched each other’s backs, always, even if they were fighting. They talked late at night if sleep was far. He didn’t tell her how crappy her old life choices were, try to lecture her on how wrong and morally shy she was. Maybe he’d be kind enough to toss in a joke. Wynonna being a criminal and a hustler didn’t bug him. Never did. He knew there was more to her than a jail cell with her name on a golden plate because it might as well be home. He trusted her, the way Waverly did but Ward didn’t, Willa always somewhere in between. He didn’t care she was a little messed up and turned to a bottle for answers, because honestly he was messed up, too, and understood how coping worked (but he’d always cut her off if drink took a bad turn). He’d tell her the few tales that didn’t scar him, how in elementary school he was always teacher’s pet and didn’t care who teased him. She found him, and she truly believed he’d found her. Maybe he really did. Maybe that’s why Eliza’s presence bugged her so much; she couldn’t compete with all those years together, all those inside jokes, the lines she knew not to cross because she knew what war horrors racked his brain at night. Maybe she felt a little threatened, losing something else she held onto for dear life, terrified to lose because _she_ found it, and it was _hers,_ no one else’s.

“If you stare so hard you’ll melt them both.”

Waverly, plopping down next to her, wrapped in two jackets and two blankets. Hard to tell if she was actually _that_ cold or paranoid about getting hypothermia again.

“He’s too hot already to melt.” Wynonna stopped herself, eyes wide with the force of her words, and chugged a mouthful. “Hey, didn’t I send you to have sexy times?”

“Victoria needed her.” She leaned closer. “He and Eliza are cute, but he likes you more. That one time you two didn’t go hunting together—he was bummed the whole day.”

“We both had a late night. He was probably tired.”

“Sure.”

“I can’t compete with an ex. Or a long history.”

“They’ve broken up once. Besides, you’re Wynonna. You can do anything. Especially with a beer in your hand.”

Wynonna drank again, a way of agreement. “You’re a _killer_ wingwoman. Who’s super right; me and Peacemaker get shit done.” She clutched the holster strapped to her waist, only to find it empty. “I left Peacemaker on the stairs.” She sighed. Of course she’d have to get up after she finally for comfortable.

She left Waverly, her beer, and a warning not to touch her drink. Waverly took a sip out of spite. She found Peacemaker easy, right on the ground where she left it, but paused. Nicole and Victoria were just downstairs, arguing about something Victoria seemed really invested in. _Really_ invested, given the way she tore into Nicole.

Victoria’s reason, Wynonna would piece together, for pulling her sister aside was to talk her into a huge favor. Victoria’s people hit a rough patch. They were dying, of completely curable diseases. Diseases falling a grade above the penicillin Dolls stowed away. Just up the street, occupying the hospital, was the military. Doctors looking for the Cordyceps cure, using the people they’d abandoned years before as test subjects. They had medicines, painkillers for the man who had to amputate his leg. Her plan wasn’t to ask for help. They tried that already, met with guns and threats. Her plan was to take what they needed, by force. In her eyes they deserved those medications; they were _owed,_ for every screw up the military made since the Outbreak, starting with how they left this entire town to die, only returning to treat already-suffering inhabitants as guinea pigs.

Of course Nicole turned it down. Victoria wanted her, her team, their numbers, their weapons, their skill and experience. She called it what it was: suicide. When Victoria argued, Nicole made it clear what about the plan was so stupid. By now Wynonna had entered, made a plot to eavesdrop when Victoria angrily shoved Nicole. She shoved Nicole because Nicole offered to help search pharmacies around town; Victoria said this problem surpassed over-the-counter meds—not what Nicole meant—and persisted they needed stronger stuff; Nicole refused again. Enter the shove, a couple rude names.

Then, “What, I don’t go along with your stupid plan so you go to name-calling and tantrums?”

Victoria didn’t like that. Even Wynonna tensed at her expression, wolf-like and ready to kill at the snap of a finger. “After all we’ve been through, after what I’m doin’ for you buddies here, you don’t help me?”

“It’s dangerous and irresponsible, Victoria. And unlike you; you’re not stupid.”

She took a step so threatening for Nicole it sent shivers down Wynonna’s spine. “What do you know about me? Huh? You left. It’s been two years. You killed Michael and left me alone to figure it out—”

“I _knew_ you weren’t over it! You were just trying to bribe me for this bullshit.”

“Dangerous and irresponsible, what _you_ did—runnin’ off alone, leavin’ _me_ alone!”

“I tried, Vic. But no matter what I do you find a way to tear me down and feel like shit.” Wynonna nodded silently, fought a cheer. “So excuse me for getting sick of it and bailing.”

“I have always had your back, Nicole. Always. Why can’t you do me this one favor?”

“That’s bullshit.”

“What?”

“When I came out and _they_ kicked me out I didn’t hear from you in weeks—because you needed something! And when I came out to you, you didn’t care! You made fun of me!”

“Jesus, why’s it always come back to that shit?”

“It’s an important part of my identity, something I’m proud of. Something that took me a _long_ time to accept. You weren’t supportive, ever. So no, you _haven’t_ always had my back.”

“So you’ll hold that over me? Let my people die?”

“They’ll die because of you! There are better ways than getting shot down by soldiers, Vic. That’s all I’m saying!”

“Learn to take a fuckin’ risk, Nicole. Not everythin’s easy and black and white.”

“I’ve taken plenty of risks. But not this one. I’m leaving, first thing in the morning.”

“You only take risks if it’s someone else’s life.” Nicole stopped as she tried to leave, spun right around. “All you do is get people killed, Nicole. First your wife, then Michael, and whoever knows else. Your prissy little cheerleader’s probably next. I don’t need your help; you’re poison.” Victoria stormed off and up the stairs. Nicole didn’t move, those words, those memories holding her in place. “All you do is leave, run away. So go on, you right shit—run away!” She paused. Decided the words weren’t enough to hurt in the way she needed them to. “Dad was right when he said you’re a fuck up.”

If Victoria’s people weren’t above Wynonna would’ve “accidentally” let off Peacemaker. Instead she was rushing to hide behind a car in this corner, letting Victoria storm off and Nicole return to the second floor on her own. She took a moment and a long breath, first.

-

Nicole didn’t return to the tent, and neither had Waverly. In fact, Waverly had fallen asleep, right outside, still waiting for Wynonna to return with Peacemaker. As badly as she wanted to talk, she’d never wake Waverly. So she sat, silent and eyeing the campfire in front of her intensely, like she was ready to yell and pour all her fury into it. Wynonna took some time in returning, not to remain unsuspicious but because she was trying to decide what to say. She had to say _something._ She’d been dying to say something the entire, short, duration of time she’d come to know Victoria Haught. Somewhere along the line her last stashed bottle of whiskey, half-empty, found its way into her palm. She found a place next to Nicole, bottle open and gun tucked away. As similar as she could be to Nicole’s old crew, at least she was smart. All the time, not just sober.

“That was a loud argument,” she offered. She pushed the bottle over to Nicole, reached for her unfinished beer. “Not to pry.”

“Sorry. Can’t help it when I’m mad.”

Nicole sipped that last bottle in Wynonna’s collection, feeling the glorious burn in her throat, before handing the whole thing over again. Wynonna finished off the beer, but that didn’t mean she was done drinking.

“Who can? We can stay, you know. Help your sister out. Maybe Dolls can work some military magic.”

“Wynonna, we shouldn’t. It’s too risky.”

“Gamble a little, Haught. Even in these trying times. _Especially_ in these trying times. Maybe we’ll get something good out of it.”

Nicole didn’t react, only stared into the fire, rubbing her fingers together. They only broke apart to accept Wynonna’s offering again.

“Y’know,” the middle Earp went on, concern for Nicole making itself known in her expressions, “I’ve hated every idiot Waverly’s ever brought home. I always wondered how such a smart kid could have such terrible taste in men. And Purgatory’s men are already terrible, so like, double it.” Nicole spared her a laugh, handing the bottle over, which Wynonna sipped right away. “Secretly I hoped Champ would get stomped one too many times by those damn bulls. He’d either get smart, or—” she swiped her hand swiftly across her throat.

“That bad, huh?” Nicole laughed again.

“And I guess the overprotective part of me thought—knows no one, especially a Purgatory dude, could ever be what my sister needs or deserves.”

Nicole rubbed at her neck. Wynonna was right. But were they really doing this? That classic “if you hurt her I’ve got a shotgun” talk?

“But I’ve gotta say,” Wynonna continued, stopping to drink again first, “this time she finally did right.”

Nicole laughed again, in relief. “Don’t get soft on me, Earp.”

“Hey, I just might.” She passed the bottle over to Nicole again, who took it easier and more comfortably than before. “You’re everything she needs and more and I can’t thank you enough for having her back, since the beginning. And I know if—if something _really_ happens to me I won’t have to worry if she’ll make it, because she won’t be alone. Or with some idiot.”

“I like it when you drink,” Nicole laughed in relief again. She took a second drink before handing it over again.

“And since I approve of you, like _massively,_ it’s important to me that you stop beating yourself up. That’s why I’m here, if you’re wondering.”

“Not at all,” Nicole tried to joke, but her tone failed her.

“I know Waverly’s probably said this too many times, but since you’re a stubborn fuck: You’re a damn good person, Nicole.”

Nicole rubbed at her neck, bowing her head down. “What good person shoots their own kin?” Her head shot up to meet Wynonna, miles of guilt racing on her face. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

Wynonna shrugged and set the now-empty bottle down. She did so carefully, eyeing Waverly to make sure was actually asleep. If she was eavesdropping Wynonna’d have to give her a hellish roadtrip back to their childhood, back when she was her bully. Alongside Willa. Only she actually felt bad, and made this known. Willa had no conscience. Or boundaries.

“Difference is,” she said, leaning over her own lap, “you feel bad. Not to mention you being a cop and all, probably considered every available option before you pulled that damn trigger. Difference is, Nicole, you didn’t _want_ to. Mike was a good person, right? Like, _good person,_ not just nice words in respect for the dead?”

Nicole nodded. “He was a _great_ person.”

Wynonna nodded in return. “Well, Ward Earp was no Michael Haught. Michael probably didn’t hit his wife when he felt a little insecure, never got sober except to sleep. Probably didn’t force his oldest daughter into law because, for some damn reason, the Earps needed to be in charge of Purgatory’s law. Maybe not arrest his middle, delinquent kid the harshest way possible, slamming her into the nearest wall to slap those stupid cuffs on. Shit, he probably wouldn’t have pushed someone as brilliant and kind-hearted as Waverly away. I risked _everyone,_ Nicole. I kicked the _front door_ open and killed him with his own gun, and now I use it like some prize or trophy. I didn’t kill Ward Earp to ease his suffering, no matter what Waverly says. I did that for Willa. And even then I’m not totally sure. I killed Ward because I hated him and the way he treated us, especially Waverly. And I risked _everyone_ to do it. It was the _determined_ kind of revenge. _That’s_ the difference, Nicole. I don’t even regret it. Felt damn good, actually. Willa, sure. But deep down I know I liked it. The way she treated Waverly—no different from Ward. I mean, I only mourn the girl she _was,_ right?”

“Jesus, Wynonna.” Nicole rubbed at her neck again, looking back into the fire.

“Don’t ever let anyone, especially your own damn self, tell you you’re a bad person. You’re a good fucking person, Nicole.”

Nicole’s eyes left the angry red flames for Wynonna’s honest, icy blue eyes. “Damn, Earp. You’re a real fucking sap.”

This earned Nicole a hard shove, and the mood fell, relaxed.

“Whatever, Haught,” Wynonna laughed. “Fuck you.”

Behind them, curled up in a small nest of wool and fleece, Waverly smiled along with their friendly laughter.

-

Warmth was everywhere; her bones, her heart, fingers, toes, smile on her lips as she returned to reality. She could hear rusting outside the tent, a place they returned to escape persistent chills of a sunless night. She smiled at the sight of Waverly Earp snuggled up to her side, leg and arm thrown across her body to hold on to dear life, even as she slept. The way she twitched in her sleep, sometimes her fingers, sometimes her face. The feeling of Waverly’s breaths on her neck. Their hearts beating as one, her chest raising and lowering so softly. How she woke, immediately searched for Nicole, kissed her neck, and snuggled closer. No words. No words needed. The silence, the feel of being so close, heart beating, that was a treasure in itself.

Good moments were made to end. That’s how good and bad were identified. Still, it was cruel how the moments couldn’t last, the quiet mornings where the world could shine, in all its broken glory. How they needed to end at all.

How, today, they ended so chaotically.

Wynonna burst into the tent. No jokes, no  _Keep it PG! I’m comin’ in!_  or,  _Stop corrupting my sister. Me, my eyes, and my long-term memory are here!_ No, Wynonna burst in with reason. Eyes wide, and not in that Wynonna-gossip way, but in that Wynonna’s-scared-so-you-should-be-too way.

Nicole was cursing her sister’s name, joining the rest of her team at the end of the lot to look the land below. Victoria left. Held the team at gunpoint when they tried to stop her, as if Nicole told everyone about the spectacularly stupid plan she had to attack the military. The military, who was armed with military-grade weapons, tanks, drones, the big boy stuff. To be fair, Wynonna _did_ tell Dolls; the two got a moment in because they couldn’t sleep.

Below was the sight Nicole didn’t want to see, the sight she wished she’d stopped with more power than she tried before: Victoria, her far-from-able people, and her army of Infected, all charging for the hospital. _Stupid_ choice, bringing the Infected. Did she expect them to play fair? Not go against both sides? Chances were they’d turn against Victoria’s people before the military could shoot them down. And it was still the middle of the night, no sunlight to guide them, help them see what they were shooting at. Why now? Because Nicole said they’d leave first thing in the morning? To try and lure Nicole and her numbers out to help? _Dick_ move.

Her team asked what they could do. Should they stop them? Get shot down helping prevent this active suicide march? Nicole didn’t care. In fact, she’d rather the team stay in the garage. She said so as she made to leave. Of course they couldn’t let her go alone. The Earps followed, others packed up their most important belongings, short notice and all, and scrambled to catch up.

Nicole was too preoccupied looking for her own sister, continuing to curse her name, to convince the Earps to leave for safer grounds. Mostly she was trying to lose them in the chaos. In the moment it seemed smart; they’d get held up and she’d get to jump into the action.

Then she was cursing herself, because she should’ve _known_ Victoria was going to pull this shit. She’d pulled similar things before. Nicole would say no, Victoria would do it anyway. Another reason she left.

Gunfire. Nicole ran faster. Earps followed faster, tried to keep up. They weren’t stupid. They knew she was trying to lose them.

Then they were looking soldiers in the face, Infected shouting to high heaven and scrambling about, taking down absolutely anything in their wake. Someone shot at them. Soldier, scoped weapon, waiting above. They were pinned in some dumpy old shop, windows already missing from drone strikes or recently taken out by misfire. Neither Nicole nor Wynonna had a scoped rifle themselves, only the bare weapon. Waverly had a shotgun, didn’t need a scope. Any shots they made were guesses, not enough time to aim carefully before a bullet zoomed for them. They were stuck here, truly, all exits leading to Infected running in circles outside, chasing soldiers or people who were already infected with some other disease. The one safe exit was ahead, through the next building. But the asshole soldier still had sights trained on them, like he had nothing better to do. And he did—a whole battlefield!

Wynonna was pulling out another beer, her lighter. Molotov cocktail. She threw it at the Infected outside, more gathering around the sound of shattered glass to snap bloodied teeth at it. Soldier with scope followed the bottle. Even shot it prematurely. No point; the people he knew, the ones he tried to save in the blast zone, were goners anyway.

But his foolishness, his desperate attempt to help his allies, worked perfectly in Nicole’s favor. The second the soldier turned his rifle from them Nicole vaulted over the shop, into the street, and through the next shop and on and on and on until she’d find Victoria. She tried to ignore the way Waverly, voice laced with fear, shouted after her. She knew she would be in for a lecture later, but right now it was more important she grabbed her stupid sister by the hair and dragged her out of this mess. Didn’t matter what tasteless words she had to spare about it. Earps couldn’t follow. They were still pinned. Had no clue where the rest of the team was, either. Not their best work, here. All nerves, no thoughts. Worst possible line of choices in this world of theirs.

They’d be out soon, Nicole stumbling across Victoria, almost the same as before. Vaulted into a shop, got grabbed from behind, slammed her against a wall, got a few punches in before she realized just who she was punching. Then Nicole was shoving her sister in frustration, cursing her name to her face.

“What the fuck were you thinking, you idiot?”

“You’re not stoppin’ me,” Victoria answered short, heading back to a window to shoot. Nicole forced the rifle from her hand and threw it across the room.

“We are leaving,” she said, tone more piercing than anything that rifle could ever shoot. “You’re getting your shit together and you’re coming with me.”

Victoria forced herself from Nicole’s grip the second she grabbed her arm. Then she shoved her in return for earlier. “You are not my babysitter, Nicole!”

“Then stop acting like a god damn child! Those are _soldiers_ out there, Victoria. Armed with more guns and bombs and tanks than you can count. You’re going to die if you stay. _Die,_ Victoria. Stop being a stubborn brat for two minutes and stand down! We’re leaving!”

Nicole grabbed for her hand again. Victoria smacked her wrist until she let up, the sting too much to take. “Stop tellin’ me what I can and can’t do! I’ve been on my own for two years, Nicole. Jesus, three years, now! Three years you left me and I did just fine! Don’t come in here and fuck everythin’ up like you always do!”

“You will die.” No jokes, no room to sway her opinion in her voice. “Most of your people are dead. If you don’t come with me, you will end up like them.”

“I’d take dyin’ over being with you again. All that time we spent together—I can’t go to sleep at night. All those shitty things we did, all those people we lost because of you—”

“I kept you alive, Victoria! If it weren’t for me you’d be dead, long ago! You’re here right now, doing yet another stupid thing, because of me! And as usual I have to swoop in and save your sorry ass before you get killed!”

“This whole thing would’ve gone smooth if you hadn’t turned me down!”

“This isn’t on me, Victoria. This madness is all you! I told you this was going to happen!”

“If you helped, we would’ve been fine!”

“You’d be the same! So would Waverly and Wynonna and everyone else!”

Victoria wasn’t quitting. Maybe quit this argument, but not her big quest to stick it to the man. Now she was even trying to go for her rifle. Nicole stepped in front of it. Victoria made to shove her again but Nicole seized her wrists and shoved _her_ instead. Victoria’s face grew red with rage.

“Get out of my way, Nicole.”

Nicole stood strong, a stone wall. “No.” She stepped closer, face-to-face with her sister. She didn’t care if she was shorter, if her sister’s age and height were a threat. “I don’t give a shit how you feel about this. You’re gonna grow up, you’re gonna come with me, and you’re gonna get over it. They won’t think twice about killing you, and they don’t care why you’re here or what you want. They only care you shot at them and let Infected on their own. You killed their friends, so they’ll kill you, and that’s why you’re getting out of here. Don’t need you to be happy about it.”

Like the child Victoria was posing herself to be, she punched Nicole right in the jaw. Like the adult Nicole always posed herself to be, she didn’t react, and, maturely, asked if Victoria was done. If she’d gotten her anger out. Threw her tantrum, because they were going. They weren’t dying here, mowed down by soldiers in a dumb situation that shouldn’t have happened in the first place. After all Nicole had been through, all the self-hate from losing Michael and Shae and leaving her sister, she wasn’t dying here. Her last moment together with Waverly wouldn’t be running off while she wasn’t looking to save Victoria. They were making it through this, going to Sanctuary, and living longer than this world wanted them to.

So she grabbed Victoria’s arm again, more forcefully than ever, and again her jaw was met with a fist. She yelled for Victoria to stop. Victoria tried another punch, Nicole moved. Cursed her name again. Grabbed for her again. Was met with resistance. Dodged a shove. Let off one last, warning,  _You’re coming with me._

“Make me, Nicole,” Victoria challenged. More than she was already. “I don’t need your input. I ain’t a kid, and you ain’t my mom.” She added, to poke Nicole in the wrong places, “Not that Mom’s your biggest fan.”

“If your grand scheme here is to piss me off, no need. I’m plenty pissed already.”

Nicole was ready to add in yet another fruitless warning, but soldiers approaching outside caught her attention. The reason she was trying to get Victoria to stand down. She moved to one of the windows in the store’s front to check on the war waging in the street, and here Victoria took the opportunity to run off through the side. Nicole chased. And cursed. It was the same plan she used to shake off the Earps. Should’ve seen it coming.

They ran through a handful more shops, jumping and vaulting, Victoria pushing over tables and whatnot and Nicole dodging and trying to avoid falling over and losing everything she needed to gain here. Finally she met her older sister’s heels, tackling her to the ground, channeling _nearly_ all of her fury into taking her down, stopping this mess. If she went all in it’d be _much_ uglier.

But Victoria managed to wiggle out just enough from Nicole’s grasp to elbow her and escape. She moved to run off again, but Nicole snatched her by the ankle and pulled her down. Victoria swore, kicked at her younger sister, who dodged right at the last minute.

They stood together, panting, sore, tired of this nonsense. Victoria raised her fists, let off a scowl to match. No more running. They were doing this, settling this, now.

“Come on,” she said, her tone another blow to Nicole.

“Victoria, please, don’t make me do this.”

Victoria didn’t care. She never cared. Not when Nicole was against her. Hell, often when Nicole was _with_ her she couldn’t spare an ounce of interest. Nicole’s fists weren’t raised. No intention of ending this fight with a literal fight. So Victoria took her down easy, another tackle, slamming her recently massaged, recently stress-free back to the pavement. Nicole tried to stand, but only ended flipping into a crouch, stomach down, Victoria punching her sides from behind. Until finally she’d had enough, her buttons pressed and broken, elbowing her sister to the throat and pinning her to the ground. Victoria, coughing madly, punched her once just past her left eye before Nicole seized both her hands and sat fully on top of her, weighing her down. With some struggle. Victoria struggled to jolt upward, to jerk Nicole off, to free her fists and bash her face in, but found herself stuck. As did Nicole, unable to do anything other than play heavy defense here, no possible room to sneak in some attack of her own.

“Come on,” Nicole shouted into her sister’s face, a right out beg for this to end, “knock it off! They’ll find us both!”

At this point Victoria might’ve been alright with that. She’d get to stay and stick it to Nicole. Take her victory to the grave. She head butted Nicole, aiming for the bridge of her nose but missing, luck in Nicole’s favor. Victoria scrambled to her feet, kicked Nicole down before she could do the same. She went for a second kick, just to be cruel, but Nicole grabbed her by the ankle again and pulled it so hard she lost balance and rejoined her sister on the ground.

Nicole reached for her. Victoria kicked her stomach so hard she could _see_ the air leave Nicole’s lungs. While her younger sister failed to ignore the extreme pain Victoria positioned herself behind her, wrapping arms around Nicole’s neck and pinning the rest of her down with longer legs. Nicole struggled like her life depended on it—and maybe it did—and kicked, squirmed, clawed, punched, elbowed but found no luck. Once in the past she’d told Victoria to work on her crappy holds. Now she regretted it. The way they fought verbally she should’ve seen this coming some day.

Nicole was desperate. Nothing she tried worked, and the whole world was starting to fade into spots of black. Her own hand snaked around her pockets, front and crossing over to the other front, then stopping in her back pocket to find the switchblade her sister gifted her hours before. As a sign of good nature. Turns out it was a way to make Nicole feel good, so she could buy what she wanted later. Not this time. And this time was way uglier than any other.

She flicked the blade to full length, gasping for air, and, arm growing weak, tried to plunge it anywhere into her sister. Anywhere would work. Victoria, not getting low on oxygen and energy, bent Nicole’s arm in a way that wouldn’t allow the knife to reach anywhere at all, only shoot straight up.

“Not with my own fuckin’ knife,” she growled.

Last thing Nicole heard before the pitch black of night and unconsciousness took over.

-

“She is real fuckin’ heavy, baby girl.”

“Well, don’t—Jesus, Wynonna! Don’t smack her!”

“Well, kisses and tickles aren’t working. Next time I’ll ask politely, alright? Don’t give me that look. She’s fine. A little red in the face but she’s red in the head, too. Maybe it’s a new fashion thing.”

“This isn’t funny, Wynonna.”

“Getting shot at, at four in the morning? This is _hilarious_ when you haven’t slept. Oh come on, baby girl, lighten up. And you, old west knock off! Shoot _all_ the baddies or not at all! Got five hours of sleep, a sad nap, a ginger twice my size over my shoulder, and a shitty old gun that can’t shoot straight. You forgetting how to shoot doesn’t help anyone. And you—”

“Wynonna, don’t hit her!”

“What? It’s a dream of mine to hit cops without consequence. Ow! Okay, sorry. But seriously, Sleepy the Cop ain’t helpin’ anyone right now.”

“Don’t—”

“Once more for the road!”

“Wynonna!”

Nicole jumped awake, a sharp sting to her cheek. Her sides ached worse. She didn’t wake peacefully, immediately slipping from the weight supporting her and using her own weight, own balance. Everything hit her at once. Earp sisters dragging her along, one arm over Nicole, other clutching a gun. Doc was back, this scene of gunfire and shrieks and dumb luck to thank for that. Maybe the fates didn’t _want_ him to leave this team.

Wait, where was the alleyway? Where was Victoria?

Waverly’s lips were on hers, hands in their usual place on her neck. “You’re okay?” she asked, eyes displaying more worry than her face could. Nicole nodded, then felt a smack to her shoulder. “Don’t ever run off like that again!”

“Yeah, seriously,” Wynonna chimed. “We’ve had this same talk too many times already. Once more is overkill.”

Nicole looked like a little kid on the first day of school: confused, nervous, a bit scared. “Wait, where are we? How long was I out? Where’s—” She jumped at Doc’s pistols firing.

“She wasn’t there when we found you.” Wynonna broke the news to her. Spared Waverly that pained look in Nicole’s face. “We found Doc, obviously, and he tried to find tracks. Nothing. I’m so sorry, Nicole.”

Waverly held her hand, grounding. Wynonna saw the familiar look on Nicole’s face, pushing feelings aside for whatever was in front of her. She let go of Waverly’s hand, stepped closer to Doc, who was standing in a doorway. They were in an old store now. Gunfire sounded close, but not close enough to make a fuss.

“Xavier and Miss Shapiro stole a workin' SUV,” Doc answered her unasked questions, shoving more bullets into one of his revolvers. They raised suddenly and hit a Runner the second they stepped from behind a truck in the road. “They almost hit me with it.”

His pistols dropped. All clear. Wynonna fought the urge to add he might’ve deserved to be hit.

He continued, “They hadn’t found anyone else yet, so I told them to circle around and meet me here ten minutes later. I’d look, too. I found the sisters, who in turn found you, and made it back here. So now we wait.” He turned to Nicole, holstered his guns, and respectfully removed his hat. “I searched and searched for your sister, Officer Haught. I did not catch a single sign.”

“We have to get out of here.” Nicole’s words were breathy, like it took everything in her to say them. No surprise if it did.

“She can’t be far,” Waverly offered.

“Still got a couple minutes left,” Wynonna added in.

Nicole only pulled her pistol, helped Doc take down a Clicker who refused to die. Stubborn. Like Victoria. “It’s too risky,” she mumbled.

And that was that, no other words about Victoria. Nicole knew it’d be stupid, skimming an active war zone for her sister, putting seven other lives at risk. She ignored the pain in her heart, the feeling of being the sole survivor of her entire family.

-

Dolls pulled up, quick, skidding across a sidewalk the vehicle could barely fit on. All members accounted for. Doc jumped in the back, the Earps and Nicole in the trunk. Then Dolls’s foot was heavy on the gas, and minute by minute Nicole’s town grew smaller and smaller.

She stared out that rear window, Waverly’s hand on her shoulder. Wynonna and Doc shared a knowing glance, one where he apologized for everything, right now specifically for leaving, and she thanked him for staying, for covering her back. For helping them escape. For trying to locate Victoria for Nicole.

Out of the war zone, out of the chaos, long outrunning Infected and angry soldiers who’d lost their stolen truck for good now, the sun started to rise. Big city became a lonely highway, Dolls weaving the truck between empty spaces in lanes. Some looked out the windows. In the front row Eliza held Dolls’s hand. In the trunk Wynonna toyed with Peacemaker, looking back on the road as Nicole did, wishing, as Nicole did, things could be different.

Nicole seemed frozen. Didn’t react, didn’t tear up. Just stared, thoughts racing. Eerily similar to Wynonna. Only Nicole welcomed Waverly’s touch, didn’t shove feelings down _too_ far. So Waverly got bold, pulled Nicole into her side, head to her chest, arms wrapped around Nicole’s torso. Perfect distance to place soft kisses to her head. Nicole burrowed closer into Waverly’s touch, Waverly’s warmth, and in the small container of her mind the toxic clouds stormed on.

She felt a kiss to her head, the small but strong arms around her, holding tight and never letting go, squeeze gently.

“You have to know this isn’t your fault, baby. You did your best.” Another, long kiss to the head, exhale through the nose. “You did your best. All you possibly could. You know that, right?”

Nicole’s shut eyes didn’t open. Didn’t tear. All she did was breathe, shaky, and nod, whether or not she actually believed it.

She felt the clouds clear. No completely, but partially.

More than they would’ve alone.

-

Dolls wasn’t sleeping tonight. He parked the truck in the middle of scenic nowhere to let his team stretch, sleep comfortably outside the confines of a crowded truck they’d been huddled in for an hour, almost two. The length of time they traveled didn’t quite match the distance they traveled, slowed down by permanent traffic and a brief low fuel scare. Luckily a siphon hose and container were sitting in the trunk already. He’d watch over it, keep out fellow travelers or even soldiers still looking for their SUV. His defense: don’t roll onto a scene and leave the thing open, unlocked, and running. Wynonna, too angry for Nicole to sleep, appreciated hearing this. She’d turn him into a felon just yet.

They rested, together, on the hood of the truck. Their alone time always felt good, almost therapeutic. Dolls parked facing the city; if soldiers _did_ come out here, he’d wait until they were close and drive off. They’d have to waste time on U-turns. Rosita and Doc remained in the truck. Rosita because she was too tired to resettle elsewhere, Doc because he forgot his tent in the parking garage the way he stormed off. Eliza and Jeremy were in Dolls’s tent, Waverly setting up the other. All those times watching Nicole or Wynonna finally helped her figure out how to put the thing up herself. After a couple fumbles, of course. Once the damned contraption was up she searched for Nicole, not present. Not up front, with Dolls and Wynonna. Not in the truck, but to the side, still staring back at the city. Her city. The one she left in chaos, again. This time not a home she loved (though by the Outbreak she was living with Shae out of town, a little lost in life), but a sibling. One harder to love than the other, but one she loved regardless.

Waverly touched her back, alerting she was here, close. Her hand moved slowly, gradually, to find Nicole’s, looking on the bomb-broken town sympathetically. Then she was pulling her off.

“Come on baby,” Waverly said, tugging her numb girlfriend along, gently. “You have to get some rest, okay?”

Nicole only stared at the ground, even after they stopped walking inside their tent. Waverly caressed her cheek, and she fell into her girlfriend’s touch. At least there was one upside to the incredibly hellish time she’d been having these eight years: Waverly.

The smaller woman pulled Nicole onto their usual setup. She made certain Nicole, still silent, was settled before she sealed the entrance off. Following routine thoughtlessly, Nicole placed her pistol in its usual place next to their makeshift bed.

Waverly didn’t lay down next to Nicole, who rubbed at her eyes and bridge of her nose, but sat, placing a caring hand to her lover’s thigh.

“I’m so sorry, Nicole,” she breathed.

“Don’t be,” Nicole mumbled back. She screwed her eyes tighter shut and rubbed her fingers harder against them. Her throat and head started to burn, like something, everything was crushing her. She fought the tears building up. Too tired to deal with them right now.

After a moment she reached a hand out to Waverly. Waverly gently accepted and settled by Nicole’s side, even pulling the redhead to rest on top of her.

“I’m here, baby,” Waverly whispered. She ran one hand through Nicole’s hair and the other caressed her back under all those layers. “You can let it all out. It’s okay. I’m here.”

Nicole breathed shakily against her own burning throat, heated face resting onto the safety of Waverly’s chest. One hand kept rubbing softly against her spine and the other remained in the newly cut locks Waverly had been so crazy about. Nicole breathed again and a tear escaped her eyes at last. Then another and another . . .

“Shh,” Waverly soothed. She kissed Nicole’s head and held her closer, her soft heartbeat a lullaby in Nicole’s ears.

She didn’t say much else, certainly nothing Nicole didn’t need to hear. Never. She only tried to calm her girl, holding Nicole tightly and reassuringly in her small arms, kissing and shushing her gently, rubbing at her trembling back and fragile head filled with explosive thoughts.

-

When reality struck Nicole again she found she hadn’t moved, still safe in Waverly’s arms. Still hearing the steady, calm beating of her other’s heart in her ear. Her hands hadn’t moved, one still across Nicole’s back and one still against red curls.

Nicole eyes burned, not ready to open just yet. So she kept them shut and settled closer into Waverly, instinctively wrapping her arms around the smaller woman. The warm body under her sighed softly and she felt one finger instinctively and lazily wrap lightly around her shorter ringlets.

Nicole titled her head upward. She pressed a kiss onto Waverly’s throat before sneaking a quick peek at her, the one who, in a single evening alone, kept her together with subtle touches of the arm or simply by holding her hand. The one who kept a respectful distance but always stayed close enough, just in case. The one who roused Nicole from lonely, destructive thoughts and, as usual, made sure she slept peacefully through another night in this nightmare of a world they now knew. They one who held her tight all night and let her cry pathetically into her arms.

The _one._

She kissed Waverly’s warm throat again and moved to ease off of the smaller girl, but said girl stopped her with a groan.

“Hey, where are you going?” she asked, voice heavy with sleep.

“I’m not crushing you?” Nicole laughed. Waverly groaned again and held her tighter, both arms on Nicole’s back.

“Bonus blanket.”

“Whatever you say, baby.” Nicole smiled, settling back onto Waverly, who hummed happily in response.

“Best blanket ever.” She smiled dreamily. Nicole couldn’t resist kissing her. “Gives kisses and everything.”

After a long moment Waverly’s eyes finally woke with the rest of her, and she found Nicole, staring back at her with loving, puppy-dog eyes.

“What?” she asked, tucking Nicole’s messy locks behind her ears. “Have I told you how much I _love_ this haircut?”

“You might’ve mentioned it,” Nicole chuckled, kissing Waverly again. Afterwards she became serious. “Thank you, Waverly.”

“For what?”

“You know what,” Nicole quipped back, adding a third kiss.

“I wish there was more I could’ve—”

“No. She was my responsibility. Twice.”

“Baby—”

Nicole stopped her with another kiss. “Seriously, Waves. Thank you. For everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me for anything. Remember the time I drugged you?”

“Thank you for drugging me.”

Waverly laughed in frustration as Nicole reached up for another kiss. They paused where they broke apart, eyes glued onto one another. Waverly placed a hand on Nicole’s cheek.

“I love you, Nicole.” There was no hint of hesitation in her words, even if she knew this was probably too fast. But then time moved a bit differently now. After the words settled into the air she felt her heart skip a beat, considered the length of their relationship. “I know we’ve only been together for a few months,” she tried to reason, “and the world’s dead and we have zombies and maybe we’re just sad and lonely—”

“I love you too, Waverly.”

Waverly couldn’t help the smile on her face, the laugh of relief leaving her lips. “You do?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do,” Nicole confirmed.

That’s when they got lost. Nicole was suddenly pulled higher up and lips were busy at work. They both smiled wide as their lip locking grew more serious, more frantic, more passionate, bodies beginning to rock against each other—

A gunshot, much too close for comfort, jolted them apart. Their eyes locked on the one entrance and one exit of their tent as Nicole’s hand snaked across to grab her pistol. As she moved to check it out a voice from outside calmed:

“Shit, sorry, guys! Dropped my gun! False alarm!”

Wynonna.

The two sighed in relief, taking a moment for their hearts to stop racing before silently cursing Waverly’s sister.

“On second thought, wake up! What’s with you fucking gays and oversleeping?”

“Freakin’ Wynonna,” Waverly groaned, her hand falling back against their makeshift bed. Nicole returned her gun before kissing Waverly’s cheek.

-

Breakfast was heated from cans and consumed. Heavier nonessentials like tents and sleeping bags were relocated to the SUV’s trunk, after the third row was figured and pulled up. Took a bit to find, ending with Dolls huffing in frustration the simple way Wynonna opened it, instantly and not after the minutes of inspection he poured into it.

Nicole looked over the city one last time, as Waverly fought with the tent, hell bent on doing it herself. Wynonna joined Nicole’s side soon, clear beer bottle filled with a dark liquid. She offered it.

“Coffee,” she beamed. Who _wouldn’t_ miss the stuff? “I stole it from your sister. Sorry. She was driving me insane.”

At that, Nicole happily drank it. “One last birthday gift. And she can’t take this one back.” She woke without her new switchblade. She was surprised Victoria didn’t take the rest of her stuff. At least she still had Michael’s ring.

“Oh shit, it’s your birthday?” Wynonna asked. Nicole could curse; she didn’t mean to reveal it.

“Last month,” she said. “Two days after Tatenhills.” She passed the drink over.

Wynonna recalled, “We barbecued at the house that day. Waverly sang. She finally got that stupid guitar she found tuned.”

Nicole nodded, smiling back on that night, “One of the better ones I’ve had.”

“Huh,” Wynonna drank. No plans to ask why Nicole didn’t tell anyone. She never celebrated her own birthday, so she understood. It was too much like the old world. She’d only be sad she couldn’t go to a bar and get drunk, always her perfect birthday arrangement, sometimes get laid, too, no strings attached. She only nodded, handed the rest of the coffee over. “Happy thirty-fourth, Haught.”

Nicole groaned into the drink. “Thirty-four. God.”

A short laugh, then a silence. A comfortable silence.

“Not to salt the wound, but I’m really sorry. I know that’s not easy. And for a second time. That’s so—God, that’s fucked. I should’ve done m—”

“I always knew she’d die doing something stupid.” Nicole wouldn’t let her finish. Or anyone who placed some blame on themselves. Victoria was her problem, always. From dumb schoolyard scraps to stupid assault on the military. “I never imagined it’d actually _happen,_ but—” She sighed. “It feels weird. I know I’m not the only one here or in the world, but it feels weird, being the last one.” She dipped her head, eyed the snow beneath her booted toes. “The last one to remember them, hold our name.”

Wynonna’s hand found Nicole’s shoulder, gripping tight. “If it’s family you’re missing, we Earps really like you. And, you know, there are a couple vacancies.”

Nicole could laugh at how loose Wynonna was about her trauma. Admirable, looking at it and telling a joke. But then she wondered if that was a bad or good thing.

“I like your family, too,” she laughed. Her fingers, in her pocket, found that engagement ring, the one waiting for a chance to be used. She nodded. “I could get behind that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twenty chapters, around six to eight left, over one hundred thousand words, and nearing three thousand hits. Damn. I can't thank you enough for all the support, the kudos, the comments, stopping by and giving this thing a read in the first place. Truly, I didn't think anyone would give this thing a whirl, so it means a lot. (And congrats on finishing this long ass chapter, certainly took me forever)


	21. Shop 'Til You Drop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I really rushed this chapter, but maybe it just feels that way compared to last week's 18k adventure. Was also really freakin' tired when I edited this (and kinda when I wrote it--very sleepless week here), so please excuse any mistakes and feel free to point 'em out. I've been waiting since November, when this was outlined (alongside 20/Nicole's town), to get this chapter into the world so I could not wait any damn longer.
> 
> This chapter features absurd amounts of quick scene cuts, a whole lotta dialogue, and one honorary Borderlands mention that totally has nothing to do with the fact that I really miss that god damn game and really need to play it. Like, now.

Thumping filled her ear, not too soft and not too loud. Not the eye-widening, panic-injecting march of boots heading for them, but the calming feeling of safety. She rested across Nicole’s back, arms wrapped anywhere on the woman she could hold and head rested just under a scar left by harsh sheers, changed from simple shaving tool to useful weapon of survival.

She didn’t typically wake before the early riser beneath her, and she wasn’t typically the one holding her. Something about this was nicer. She could remind _Nicole_ for once she had her back, rather than be the one reminded. She got to hear the never-relaxed officer’s easy breaths, _feel_ the rise and fall of the chest under her arm. She got to run her hand across the open space of Nicole’s warm skin and run her thumb in light patterns. She got to leave butterfly kisses across Nicole’s neck, delighting in her change of breath and even easing her out of sleep at the sound of others rustling outside.

-

A full day passed. A respectful, silent awkwardness loomed for Nicole, who herself was silent, gone at times. Dolls broke out an old story on the road, one where he was still young and reckless and just enlisted. He and some fellow newbies hit up a bar near boot camp, drank way too much, and half the group woke up entangled in one another. Awkward few days to follow. Every single person learned something about themselves. Apparently Dolls had a true passion for karaoke. Because there _wasn’t_ karaoke and he became distraught over it.

They hadn’t gotten far, not half the distance they could’ve. Most of the day was spent moving old cars left to rest for good. Cars that no longer worked due to old batteries, empty tanks, or busted tires. Infected cropped up at the sound of an engine, so that needed to be handled. Human assholes cropped up, too, fully intending to swipe the rarity that was a running car. SUV also had awful mileage so, they stopped to siphon gas often. Luckily they had that hose and a carton already in the truck when they stole it.

This next stop was a true relic of the old world: a shopping mall. Big enough for two separate food courts and two whole stories. Everything about it felt so foreign now. Silly. Store hopping with old friends. Window shopping. Checking out cuties in the food court. Spending way too much money on a pair of shoes. Especially because money was a dead concept now, and shoes went to the first person to find them.

The intention wasn’t a good ol’ fashion shopping spree. It was to find gas, maybe forage around, stretch legs. Curiously, not a single car down the road had a single drop of fuel. Like someone with a similar plot took it all already. They could use a car battery, too. Dolls was cursing himself for conveniently lifting the truck in worst shape.

Then he was turning down Waverly’s suggestion of going inside. Her excuse was to find new clothes, seeing as their stock was pretty pathetic and now they had room to hold more. But her _reason_ was as a distraction for Nicole. Victoria’s death was too fresh in the air. She used the same technique on Wynonna the first time they parted with Willa, after they passed an old party store. She broke many, unsuspecting piñatas.

“No way,” he said. “Too dangerous.”

Wynonna caught her sister’s frown, then a glimpse of Nicole, leaned quietly against the truck’s side. Arms crossed, eyes stuck on the asphalt under her boots.

“Dude,” she started, “everything we do is dangerous.” She motioned Waverly off to the building. Dolls stammered in protest, hunched over, hands holding the siphon hose and carton steady. “We’ll be quick.” She looked to everyone else. “You need shit, now’s the time.”

Eliza refused, preferring to help Dolls. Rosita recalled her first job, in a mall, and remarked malls make her nauseous now. Jeremy was at work finding a functioning car battery. A little sad his GameBoy batteries died this morning. Nicole was game, saying she could use a distraction. Waverly was happy to hear. Doc joined, too, claiming he needed a new coat. His intention was probably to talk, though. Wynonna noted Waverly seemed cool with his return. But then she had bigger interests on her hands recently.

Wynonna had the potential to focus on Doc, tease him, bug him, wonder why he’d volunteer, wonder if he was hoping to talk. But she caught something much more pressing: Nicole, staring at her little sister. Waverly’s back pockets were stuffed with the escrima sticks. Curious, sure, but no invitation to be staring at her _little sister’s_ ass.

“Stop checking out my sister, Haught,” she warned.

“I was looking at the sticks, actually,” Nicole cleared up. Wynonna looked offended now.

“So you _don’t_ like my sister’s ass, Haught?” She scoffed. “You’re not so great, yourself.”

“No, I just—Why not in your bag, Wave?”

“It’s more convenient this way.” Waverly turned her head to find Nicole. “Why, are you distracted?”

Wynonna snorted, “Think she wants you to put those sticks in _her_ back pocket.”

Nicole looked away, awkwardly, face flushing a shade of red. Doc chuckled to himself. Waverly craned her neck further back.

“Wynonna.” A tang of _behave_ to her voice.

“I prefer face-to-face, not behind.” Nicole’s mood helped her keep a straight face, and her expression only made her comeback better. Waverly laughed, Doc chuckled again, Wynonna gagged.

“If you plan to fuck in the mall,” Wynonna said, “I’ll need those sticks back.”

Inside they agreed to split up. Wynonna and Doc on the second floor, Waverly and Nicole on the ground. If things got seedy—hunters in the mall, Infected in the mall, some other god damn thing ready to kill them in the mall—Waverly and Nicole would already be near the exit. Wynonna didn’t have to point this out; clear on its own. She parted them with one last warning, something along the lines of, “Disinfect all surfaces before you screw, please.”

-

“ . . . Personally, I prefer Gaige the Mechromancer. Is she like Axton? Yes. But Axton’s turret can’t fly around while you sit at cover, away from the action. That’s how I got through that Ultimate Vault Hunter difficulty. Maybe that’s why I’m better with a sniper in real life. Zer0 and Krieg are a little too hands-on for my taste, but they’re still great. Maia and Salvador are cool, too, but not my style. I like Krieg’s story and the idea of playing as a Psycho. Zer0’s cool but once Gaige was released I _had_ to switch classes, you know? I think Borderlands 2 was the true game of the year in 2012. Don’t get me wrong, there were plenty of great choices that year. Dishonored was great. Assassin’s Creed III was great, even if that ending makes me sad. The Walking Dead Game feels too real now, so maybe I’m biased there. Journey could compete. Unlike Street Fighter X Tekken. What a waste of potential. But Borderlands 2 really took the cake. It has a unique tone and feels and features to it. And don’t get me started on the diversity! There’s—”

“Is that a bus?”

Eliza’s find, finally, stopped Jeremy’s long lecture on games he desperately missed. The little taste he got with that GameBoy and its incredibly powerful battery was enough to induce withdrawals.

Dolls craned his head to look. Rosita exited the car she was currently looting. It was, in fact, a bus. Freakin’ _tour bus_ , no less. What a vacation. A handful of armed men exited when the thing came to a stop, the brakes squeaking, the beast sighing, the old door creaking open. Some left for the road behind the parking lot, to clear it further for the bus to pass through, and others explored the lot for gas. Thankfully the team’s car was almost filled to the brim already. A couple approached the four, guns down. Four mirrored, but held their own weapons close. New World manners.

At a breath’s distance Dolls saw these people were Fireflies. His people. He immediately pulled out his pendant, as did Eliza and Jeremy. Rosita eyed these people close. No one’s never _not_ shady.

Some questions. Why they weren’t with a crew. Where they got a car from. Where they were headed. Why they were in this parking lot. If they were deserters—as if anyone would answer that honestly. Dolls answered all, hoping to ease whatever doubts these Fireflies had about him and his allies. Explained how he and Eliza separated before. How he and Jeremy’s crew was wiped out and they were looking for another up north, a ways past the Canadian border. How Rosita was interesting in joining. No mention of the Earps. They weren’t here. Sanctuary was their secret to keep and reveal, not Dolls’s. He explained how they stole the SUV from the military. Soldiers rolled onto an open battlefield and left the thing open and running, so he took the chance to claim it. Now they were looking for gas, because this truck was a gas guzzler. Fireflies believed it all. They even explained the cars down the road were siphoned by them earlier, when their bus broke down. They traveled through the area by foot, collected all the gas possible, backtracked to refill their empty vehicle. Turns out the gas gauge was broken. They passed the mall’s parking lot and decided it was best to keep some extra gallons. Then they revealed, at Dolls’s request, they were opening a new location nearby, a couple blocks over. There was an old warehouse with just enough space. Asked if the four were interested in joining. Dolls stopped the questions here to infer with his colleagues privately.

“Eliza and I will help them through town,” he said. “We’ll see what they’re like, where to go.” He indicated Jeremy and Rosita. “You two watch the car in the meantime. When the Earps come back we can head out.” He felt a freezing chill down his spine. Was this it? Last day with the Earp sisters? With the whole team? Just like that? “Got it?”

Rosita crossed her arms, “We sit around, you do the work. Sounds good.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Jeremy asked. Dolls bumped his shoulder with a closed fist, gently.

“We’ll be fine,” he assured, ignoring the idea of their journey over so soon, so sudden.

But this was for the greater good, for mankind. For the cure. To return things back to normal. It wasn’t about him and whatever feelings he had. He’d learned this a long time ago. He was a soldier, after all, not made to be a simple person with simple things. He was a protector, and the greatest protection of all was kicking the Cordyceps virus right in its fungal ass.

So off he went, Eliza at his side, weapons and pack strung over his shoulders, promising Fireflies he’d take them through the parts of town they’d passed. It seemed to be the direction they were headed. The team hit a few bumps of their own earlier. Fireflies accepted, split into teams on bus duty and cleanup, and off they were to pave the way to mankind’s only hope.

-

Wynonna looked up from her chipped nail, the one she’d been trying to chew into normalcy. Of all the problems here, all the things ready to go wrong, she was stuck worrying about a broken nail? What a world.

Doc was giving a little spin-around, finally emerging from the dressing rooms of a men’s clothing store. Seemed ridiculous. They already banged—why was a dressing room necessary? Wynonna didn’t ask. She’d get some answer about how he was a gentleman. Probably end up impaling him with her disfigured nail.

“Looks nice,” she said. Doc turned to a mirror for a second opinion.

“I like the length.” Because a _true_ gunslinger doesn’t wear normal-length coats. Long coats getting in the way of holsters wasn’t a problem, apparently. “I like the color,” he nodded at the dark gray shade. He caught a glimpse of Wynonna in the mirror, staring with disinterest at her nail. “Do you need to pick up anythin'?”

She didn’t look up. “All good here, Hank. Never been the biggest shopper.”

He sighed, made his way over to where she leaned over an empty display stand. Her elbows rested on some clothes she’d picked up for Dolls, including a black baseball hat. He’d lost his previous in Nicole’s town, while he was stealing the SUV from under soldiers’ noses. It wasn’t fastened as tight as he thought.

“What’re we doin’, Wynonna?”

Still didn’t look up. “Bump your head? You needed a new coat.” She was aware of the growing stack on a chair nearby. “Five, apparently.”

“I did not think you would want to speak with me.”

“I’m the one who told you to fuck off, bucko. Should be the other way. From my experience, anyhow.”

“I lied, so we’re even.” He leaned on the display with her. “Shall we talk?”

Her hand fell, flat. Her interest changed to him. “I’m still trying to gather the words. Something nicer than calling you dense for quitting and leaving. Even after Waverly talked to you.”

Doc smiled, tilting his thick mustache upward. “I do believe I went too hard on the drink. Two dinners, twice the alcohol . . .”

Wynonna spared a laugh. “But thanks, for having our backs when it mattered. And trying to find Victoria. I think Nicole might’ve appreciated it.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

“Where’d you go, even?”

“I slept it off in an alley. One of those monsters charged in and woke me.” His eyes went wide. “It really took me back to my twenties.”

“Oof, I hear that.” She stood tall, focused on him. “Look, I’m gonna let the stupid lie slide, alright? We’re too close to worry and doubt or start more inter-team drama. We can’t lose focus. But you need you know I don’t need a hero. Never have. I just need a friend. An ally. Someone to count on. No more lies to spare my feelings. I fucking hate fairy tales and I know what I was sacrificing when I left Bobo’s camp. Honesty sucks but lies suck more. So no more made up shit about Sanctuary or my mom, alright?”

Doc nodded, a cool to his features, despite the deep relief he felt. “She would be proud of you, Wynonna. _That_ I slipped in truthfully.”

“How do you know Mama, anyway? You knew she called Waverly angel. Or were you guessing?”

“I have eleven years over you, darlin’. When last you saw her I was enterin’ the world of alcohol and gambles. More drink, more attitude, more bite. She saw me at Shorty’s a few times. Witnessed my big losses and bigger reactions. One day she gave me advice, on how _not_ to be childish. She told me a tale of Willa’s temper versus Waverly’s.”

“Even at fucking four years old Waverly was the best of us.”

Doc nodded. Waverly’s heart was a pure as everyone said it was. “I do know she’d be proud of you, Wynonna. How you’ve looked after Waverly. How you tried to the last breath to help Willa.”

Wynonna sighed. Willa and Ward were still dead, by her hand. “Let’s hope you’re right about that.”

-

The Fireflies retraced a lot of the route Dolls took to get to the mall, before breaking off to head to the warehouse they sought. Some got busy moving cars from the road, others kicked doors in and dispatched Infected, almost as nothing. They had automatic rifles, trained backup, and buckets of ammo on that bus. Every advantage Team Earp didn’t have. And yet, Dolls wished they were here. He was fine with Eliza, always, but every time he looked to his left to check in on Wynonna, or ahead to watch Doc’s back as he pushed through forces, pistols popping and popping, he felt empty. Like a part of him was missing. No thick _boom_ of Rosita’s sniper rifle, no _Yes, I hit him!_ from Jeremy, a following apology because he always felt bad. No blasting of three foes at once from Waverly’s shotgun, a happy, _Nice one, babe_ from Nicole and following, mocking remark from Wynonna. Just boots against a door, bullets into skulls, silence. Repeat, repeat, repeat, until they found themselves before the warehouse. Dolls felt like a soldier again, but not in the way he remembered. The way it really was. He felt inhuman again, just a vessel with a gun and orders to follow. Empty. Cold.

Warehouse was the same thing. The Fireflies leader present here gave Eliza and Dolls some ammo for Dolls’s assault rifle and Eliza’s machine pistol, a gift from one Firefly to another. They went in, barely left the doorway, mowed down dozens of Infected like wooden targets. Took a moment to be certain there were no more and everyone shot was dead. Then they were off again. Some broke off from the group to clear the bodies, others secured more of the surrounding buildings. No different from robots assigned to a task. No feelings, no remorse, no comments spared. No checking in on each other, because no one came close to being injured. Not a breath, not a thought of _How the hell’d we get out of that?_ Dolls found himself looking around again, wondering subconsciously why Wynonna hadn’t made a smart remark by now. He supposed it was time to get used to it. This was his life again, not what he came to know in the past months.

-

Waverly stared, unashamed, uncaring how long. Nicole was _hers_ to stare at, in this new outfit, jeans hugging all the right places, navy blue button-up complimenting Nicole without whatever clever words could fall from Waverly’s lips.

“See something you like?” Nicole asked. Her tone might’ve betrayed her, but Waverly knew she meant it in good faith, clouds in her mind keeping her voice from that teasing frequency Nicole carried so naturally. God damn flirt, she was.

“It’s hard to ignore one of the Wonders of the World,” Waverly returned, biting her lip.

Nicole examined herself in the full-length mirror. First glass object she’d seen other than a bottle in perfect condition. Glass wasn’t _that_ fragile, so how come every possible window they passed was shattered?

“Well,” Nicole said, turning to meet Waverly, “I do look damn good.”

“Looking _Haught,_ ” Waverly smiled. Nicole gave a sound that could resemble a laugh—first laugh since Victoria. Beautiful as ever.

They left the store to wander around. To be distracted. Waverly recalled Purgatory’s sad excuse for a mall, a building small enough to be a house for someone rich but not _rich_ rich. She told of the time she and her close friend (adding she hoped she was safe), Chrissy Nedley finally went to the mall in the big city. Real sized, about the same as the current one. They spent countless hours and hundreds of dollars. The fun they had was worth it, but the financial repercussions weren’t. Nicole remembered something similar, when an old girlfriend, wallet already dry from Christmas, spent way too much on a birthday present.

“Wait,” Waverly stopped, “your birthday’s near Christmas? We were together for that! Why didn’t you say anything? We could’ve done something!”

Nicole cursed herself for letting it slip, again. She didn’t want a fuss about it, not before and certainly not now. “Remember that day at the lake house, when we used the grill? You were so excited about getting that crappy old guitar tuned? You sang, Jeremy told an awful ghost story that Rosita immediately outdid?”

Waverly nodded, a smile forming. “That was a great day.”

“It really was. Best birthday I’ve ever had. Everyone was relaxed, happy, rested. Safe. I don’t know, I guess I thought saying something would change everything.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Everyone would be focused on me and not each other? And I guess I didn’t want anyone to be bummed about not ever having a proper birthday celebration ever again. Everyone seemed so upset about never experiencing Christmas again when it passed.”

“Those are the exact reasons _to_ celebrate, silly. I am _so_ throwing you a make-up party.”

“I already had one.”

“Circus theme or dragon?”

“Zombies.”

“Fine. We’ll play Pin the Fungal Growth on the Clicker.”

“That’s a snappy name.”

Waverly beamed, a way of ignoring Nicole’s tease. “Thank you.”

The couple stopped, one of the food courts displayed before them. Some power was still running on this side of the mall, the way neon signs buzzed and flickered. Nicole recognized an Italian food place, a chain present in her city resting in the distance. She worked at one of these places in the past, so she decided to inspect. She insisted on cooking up something, more so the second she found an old box of pasta. Waverly didn’t plan to argue. She missed pasta like hell.

The meal cooked easy, quickly, and tasted positively delectable. Waverly found some wrapped paper plates and utensils, unwrapped them, and the two made for a booth among the mess of overturned chairs to eat. Waverly didn’t sit, but leaned over the table, gazing into Nicole’s eyes.

“You didn’t pay for that, you know.” She tsked _._ “Gonna have to take you down to the station. One week in the hole oughtta set you straight.”

Nicole’s beautiful smile and beautiful dimples and beautiful laugh made a glorious comeback. “Not quite how it goes.”

Waverly was grinning, wide as possible. Victoriously. “There’s that smile.” She planted a kiss to Nicole’s temple before finally sitting down across from her. But she didn’t dig in, only paused. “Hey, are we technically on a date?”

“Typically it goes first date, _then_ ‘I love yous’.”

“Eh,” Waverly shrugged, moving to eat. “We aren’t like most.”

“I guess that’s true.”

Waverly groaned at the easily-missed taste of pasta. “This is really good, baby.”

“Thanks, baby. Not my best first date, eating from a fast food chain in an old, dirty, abandoned, probably-haunted mall.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Waverly beamed. “And much better than my last first date.”

Nicole motioned her to tell, so she continued, “It was me, Champ, and four other people. He got drunk and passed out, and everyone else left. So I had to carry him home. _Carry_ him home; no cars. And I had to pay for both of us and two of his friends.”

“Wow, I kind of want to kick his ass.” Suddenly Nicole remembered her sides, a field of bruises from her sister showdown. “Sore or not.”

Waverly reached for her hand, the only without a fork, and kissed the burning red knuckle. “My poor, brave baby.” Nicole gave a smile, small. “Where would you take me?” Waverly threaded their fingers together. “On a first date, I mean. If the world wasn’t a giant mess.”

Nicole paused her feasting, considering. The solution brought another small smile to her lips. “My hometown—where I was born—had a fair that rolled in every summer. I’d take you there.”

“That sounds so much fun.” Especially compared to a world of zombies, cannibals, and no legal consequences for assholes. Though most assholes in the old world got off the hook anyway.

Nicole dug her fork back in and resumed her meal. “We’d ride the rides, I’d blow twenty bucks trying to win you something. And maybe I’d sneak in a kiss on the ferris wheel.”

Looking back into Nicole’s eyes, “I’d really love that, baby.”

“No riding the Inverter, though. I rode it with Victoria and Michael, who’re both bigger than me. The lapbar—it was one of those caged ones. The lapbar was so far I swore I’d fall right out. Michael had the same problem. So we rode a second time without Victoria.” The thought of leaving her sister triggered yesterday’s events. She stared off, mind wandering. A laugh under her breath, “She was pissed.”

Waverly squeezed her hand. “I’m really sorry, Nic.”

If Nicole hadn’t finished eating she’d probably have abandoned it. Instead she stared into her empty plate. “It’s like Shae all over again. I left her. Didn’t even look for her.” She sighed, long. “Maybe she was right. I do run when things get tough.”

“That’s not true.”

“It i—”

“That’s not true. Things have been hard for a long time now and you’re still here.”

“Only because everyone around me is dead.”

“I’m still here. We all are.”

Her eyes left the plate. “For how long?”

“Always.” Waverly held both Nicole’s hands now, reassuring, voice firm. “You’re not poison, Nicole. When things get tough, you stand up. Sometimes you stand _too_ tall, but you stand up. You saved us from Bobo’s men. You saved me from August. When we’re sneaking around you always handle Clickers first, Runners if you can. The first day we started our relationship you were there for me about this not-an-Earp business. You helped Wynonna defend Doc, and pushed me in that shop to keep me safe. Then there’s everything you did for me against the Tatenhills.” She gave both hands a gentle squeeze. “You’re not a coward, Nicole. You don’t run. You’re really brave and selfless and your heart is so big, and I love you. You’ve been through hell, baby, so it’s okay to feel down. But don’t blame yourself, because none of it is your fault.”

Nicole was smiling, full, dipping her head that way she did. “I’m so glad you marched into Lou’s camp.”

“I’m really glad sleep deprivation and anxiety and Wynonna’s terrible system made me go to Lou’s camp.” She grimaced. “That sounded snappier in my head.”

-

The weirdos were to thank here, the types that kept all sorts of oddities in their cars. Some things were worth snagging: old crossword puzzles, Sudoku books, combs, brushes, blankets, spare clothes, food, even. Some were nice enough to forget ammo or whole guns. Which, of course, made Rosita laugh. _It’s the apocalypse! To the mall!_

By now Jeremy installed a working battery, tossed out the old one, and stored two spares. All tested proper. Rosita finished up the gas and held some extra in the carton, passing the time with some good ol’ lootin’. Seeing as they could rely on a trunk and not just the space on their backs, some extra things could be taken. Having back up supplies was certainly less stressful.

Jeremy checked the tires, Rosita helped him strap some spares to the roof of the SUV using some bungee cords they happened across. Then he was taking it easy, helping forage around.

“You did a really good job yesterday, Jeremy,” Rosita broke the silence. “We weren’t sniping from a nest. We were in the field, on the move.”

“Oh no, it’s nothing. Just pull the trigger and run and try not to die and don’t be scared by the zombies who spread a brain-eating virus.”

“Running onto an open battlefield is a pretty big deal, Jeremy.”

“Yeah, but, you know, everyone’s doing it, too.”

“You’re too smart to look _that_ down on yourself.”

Jeremy smiled, appreciative. “Soon I’ll be back in a lab. I can’t wait.” His voice was a bit too flat for someone so “excited”. “What about you?”

“I was hoping we’d have more time.”

“I’ll miss the team,” Jeremy admitted. “Especially having two gay friends and a bisexual mentor.”

“Mentor?”

“Yeah! You’ve taught me a lot.”

Rosita laughed at the idea. “All I did was stick the correct gun in your hands. You were smart enough to figure the rest out.”

Jeremy wasn’t buying it. Still, he changed the subject, “Are you looking forward to joining the Fireflies?”

Rosita delayed her answer so they could move cars. “Finding the cure for mankind sounds right up my alley.” A touch of sarcasm to her voice, like she didn’t really mean it. “But I wouldn’t mind joining the Earps in Sanctuary.”

“I didn’t think you liked them that much.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just—” She sighed. “I’ve been working all my life. I spent most of my childhood in my family’s restaurant. I worked all throughout my teens. The week I turned eighteen I left to join the military. And as soon as I had it all figured out, this crap started up. This big _desmadre;_ fucked up situation. What if I sat back, just for once? There are plenty of other people who can help, right? I want to enjoy life, not walk right past it. It’s the worst time to be lazy, I know, but I’m just so tired. I want to relax.” She snorted. “Wynonna’s been a terrible influence.”

Jeremy diverted his attention from the pile before him, a mess of stuff in some family car’s wide trunk. “It’s okay to choose a future you want. You don’t owe anyone your talents. I learned that from Dolls.” He paused. “But I’m not sure he’s learned it himself.”

“You were wrong, Jeremy.  _Y_ _ou’re_ the wise one here.”

-

Wynonna and Doc found the only thing Wynonna and Doc would spot first: a bar. Some adults section of the mall. Place probably had a helipad outside, too. Happily, they restocked on their lacking collection of drinks, now hyper aware they had a truck with many cupholders, and took a moment to crack a drink open together in good faith. A way of moving forward, forgiving the past.

“I have found—” Doc said, sitting on a raised stool while Wynonna hopped up on the counter “—buyin' a friend a drink can mend the deepest of wounds.”

Wynonna hummed in agreement, bottle to her lips. “Educated find,” she replied once possible.

She recalled, with the way they talked about Michelle and a much younger Waverly, a time she and Willa tried to pull a prank on their youngest sister. Classic bucket on the door trick, a little difficult given the small height of youth. Michelle had caught them in the act, and of course gave them a long lecture. Waverly found out about the attempt and, later that night, splashed them in their sleep with a glass of water each.

But just as Wynonna approached the part where things _really_ escalated, the two snapped into a silence. Rustling. Nearby. Doc drew his pistols skillfully, impressive speed and all, and Wynonna fumbled to get her long-nosed burden of a gun from her waist. Damn thing always got stuck.

-

Waverly and Nicole couldn’t pass up the sporting goods store at the end of the walkway. By now they’d looked through a couple more stores, picking up some things for the four who didn’t come along. Some new jackets, shirts, jeans, and shoes. New shoes were a necessity by now, even the pair Nicole gave Waverly when they first met. Waverly didn’t want to part with them. Too sentimental. She made up for it, and Nicole’s gone-forever Stetson, with a matching set of beanies.

Nicole’s reason for searching the sporting goods store was to look through the hunting and fishing sections. Maybe find some ammo, some knives, anything useful. The place was skimmed dry. Waverly’s intention was to learn more about her girlfriend. No way she didn’t play sports when she was younger. Soon she got her answer, as they passed through other sections of the store.

“I used to play softball and basketball, back in the day.” Waverly immediately perked up. Just what she was hoping for. Any story about Nicole’s life was a symphony to her ears. “I like basketball better, though.”

Waverly backtracked to the aisle they’d left, in search of a softball. Oddly, they were all missing, only wiffle balls. She guessed it was true _everything_ can be used as a weapon. Then she hoped the team wouldn’t happen across the Softball Bandits, hurling the things and swinging metal and wooden bats also missing. She rounded the shelves again, into the open space surrounding a large wall dedicated to gloves. She tossed over a left-behind plastic bat, deemed incapable of doing real damage by looters. Nicole’s eyes held the questions she didn’t ask, Waverly tossing the wiffle ball between her hands.

“Show me your moves, super star,” she said. Nicole obliged, shucking her pack and rifle off. Waverly followed, also dropping the many things they picked up for the team. Shopping spree, indeed.

“I actually wasn’t a bad hitter. I ran fast, so I really squeezed out doubles and triples.”

“You do run pretty fast,” Waverly agreed. “It’s those long legs. Cheater.”

Nicole spared a small laugh, took her old stance. Waverly stared, forgot what was happening, so Nicole laughed again. Eventually she found her way to face Nicole, ready to toss the ball. Nicole hit it with precision, knocking the poor thing clear across the store with an audible whistle as it ripped through the calm air. Waverly looked smug, more so after Nicole rested the barrel of the bat against her shoulder.

“Not gonna lie,” Waverly admitted, “that was kind of hot.”

Another laugh, more lively. Waverly grinned.

Not long before she was in awe again, biting her lip and _staring._ They’d found a basketball, a pump, a hoop. Pumped the ball. Nicole shot a few. Dribbled around, tried some shots from different angles, going different speeds. Nothing _too_ fancy, nothing that would irritate the last, violent marks of Victoria Haught’s existence. When she finished with a dunk she looked right to Waverly, that classic Nicole Haught smirk and confident stare-I-know-I’m-hot look to her face.

“This is why we have closed practices,” she said, eyeing Waverly and walking over. “Damn fangirls.” She tossed the ball over, which Waverly caught with only a minor fumble.

“I was never the sports type.” She twirled into Nicole, stopping close against her, head under her girl’s chin, looking up into her eyes. “I was more of a dancer.”

“Oh no,” Nicole said as Waverly strode off, “not an artist.”

Waverly winked before shooting. Nicole expected it to bounce off, to knock that knowing look off Waverly’s face, but the damn thing sunk right in, no trouble. She wore the same look as she passed the ball back to Nicole. Nicole dribbled it once, then held it under her arm.

“At least she’s a flexible artist,” she remarked. Waverly winked again.

“I’ll have you know I’m _super_ bendy.” She had the plastic bat now, indicating it clearly. “Teach me?”

“Sure,” Nicole answered. She grabbed a couple more balls first, put the basketball somewhere else.

Her breath was on Waverly’s neck, front against her back, hands over a smaller pair. She was focused on framing Waverly’s stance, Waverly was focused on her. How far they’d come, from strangers meeting in a tense situation with Lou’s drunken boys to love confessions. The fact they were standing here, together, goofing off. She stared into Nicole’s eyes, until Nicole caught her, paused. Shared in a silent, long look, broken only when Waverly tilted up to kiss her. Nicole found herself laughing.

“What?” Waverly asked.

“Sorry, just—Now I see why they say softball’s for lesbians.”

“Not _all_ sports can be straight.” She focused on the task, Nicole joining a moment later. “Now, then . . .”

Nicole guided her through a swing, in slow parts at first, then together with the full movement.

“Fast learner,” Nicole grinned. She circled around, found one of the wiffle balls, and prepped a toss.

Waverly missed the first two, then swung at nothing the third time, because Nicole decided to trick her and didn’t toss it. They both erupted in laughter, and on that fourth toss Waverly smacked the ball an impressive distance. Nicole whistled from where she knelt, jumping to her feet to track it with her eyes.

“I better watch my back before I get benched.”

“It’s okay,” Waverly set the bat aside, “you can run for me.” She grabbed Nicole’s hands, pulled her in close. “My turn.”

“What’s that?”

“My turn to teach _you_.”

“Hold on.” Nicole dashed over to her backpack, to the compartment holding valuables wrapped tightly in her thickest blanket. Somehow her old cell phone survived that river dive, and after a moment it revealed to still have a charge left from their time with the Perley sisters. She tapped a old song and offered her hand to Waverly. “Shall we?”

Waverly accepted, lightly gripping her slightly bruised hand. “The pleasure’s mine.”

The song was in three. Not too long, not too short. Enough for a quiet moment together, in each other’s embrace. To sway. To feel. Throw in a surprise twirl, a laugh, a kiss. To escape the horrors of their reality, if even for a mere two minutes.

_Oh, it don’t rain anymore._

_I go outdoors,_

_Where it’s fun to be,_

_And I know you love me._

_I know you do._

-

Bar was growing farther by the second, frozen escalator close enough nearby for a getaway if necessary. Rustling was clearer now, Colt Lightning and Colt Buntline between their owner’s fingers. Wynonna’s boots pushed aside a broken tile in her step, broken by a light fixture too fancy to live beyond the end of the world. Just enough noise to stop that rustling. The pair thought they’d find a human who’d claimed this place as home, but luck decided it’d be a Runner. Close enough; most human-looking of all those with the Cordyceps virus. They ran right out from a store selling only perfumes and lotions—still carried the smell, too—and went right for the attack. Wynonna pushed back against them, Peacemaker’s extended barrel shoving their jaw upward and unable to spread their disease.

“Taking advantage of the sale, huh?” she quipped into their face as they snarled. Doc ripped his knife from its holster behind his hip. “Gonna smell awfully fruity, dude.”

She held the Runner steady for Doc to plunge the knife in. They paused to decide nonverbally to get the hell out of here before more showed up. The way rustling from the store worsened proved this was best.

-

Again Waverly stared in happy bliss, eyes up, as Nicole Haught scaled a rock wall. They’d passed it by, the gear was rigged and solid, Nicole missed those days, they had time—why not?

Again, Nicole smiled, knowing full and well what Waverly was getting out of this. Frankly, she earned it, the way she was helping Nicole through all this. It’d been a long time since she had an equal partnership. Waverly, too, when she thought about it.

“Waves,” she called, inches from the top, “I can’t thank you enough for today.” She stopped, fingers holding onto the fake wall’s flat peak. Looked down to Waverly, still staring. “This was exactly what I needed today.”

Waverly smiled. “No problem, baby.” She blew Nicole a kiss. “Ready to come down?”

“Whenever you—Wait. Wait! What the hell? Oh shit! Waverly, bring me down fast!”

Off they went, to aid Wynonna and Doc against the growing crowd of Runners filling the empty mall.

-

“I can’t believe you turned them down, X. I can’t believe _I_ turned them down.”

“That was a bit surprising.”

Eliza stopped her pace, about a dozen more away from the SUV. Rosita and Jeremy finished their tasks and bonus foraging and rested inside. They were discussing the realistic and unrealistic elements in comic storylines.

“Why did you turn them down, Xavier?” she asked. “They’re Fireflies. They seemed nice enough. They’re _here_.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, hands buried deep into his jacket pockets. When he added a shrug it dipped upwards. “Why did _you_ turn them down, Eliza?”

“Clearly your head’s not on straight. Someone has to look out for you.”

“I guess I just want to make sure the Earps make it. Wynonna knows how to steal a car, but does she know what to do when something breaks?”

“She has her sister and Nicole for that.”

“I know. But I’d like to be sure. We didn’t travel all this way for nothing, right?”

That, and Dolls wasn’t ready to leave. He’d never be ready to leave, he considered. Working with those Fireflies felt wrong, almost. Like he was cheating on his true team, his true people. All his life, Dolls was about orders. Give them, follow them. No questions. Nothing before, after, in between. At this point in his life, he was wrapped around the idea he was made to serve others. Like a robot. If there was one thing he was learning from these people, Wynonna to name specifically, he was a person. A person with feelings and desires. What was so wrong about choosing what _he_ wanted? Rosita was beginning to catch on to this, too. They weren’t soldiers. Pawns of the government or an army. They were people. People who should be free to live the way they want. Especially in a time like now, where life could end at any second, fulfilled or not.

At the SUV he expected a barrage of questions. He told them it wasn’t too late to join; Fireflies weren’t going anywhere. Seemed they were in the same boat, one being pushed and pulled by conflict: join the Fireflies and devote their lives to the cure for mankind, or stay with the Earps and survive on their own terms, control their own fates.

Jeremy stole a moment with Dolls, just as their missing team members rushed out of the mall. They spent an awful long time trying to get the door shut. Dolls smelled danger, clutched the car keys tighter.

“You want to go to Sanctuary, don’t you?” Jeremy suspected. Dolls leaned against the closed trunk, crossed his arms.

“I don’t know.”

Jeremy looked over, to the truck’s interior. The girls were talking about something. Weapons, he thought he heard. “You can be honest. It’s me!”

Dolls sighed. “Maybe we’ll find something there. Maybe their fabled ‘utopia’ isn’t such a fable.”

Jeremy recalled, “ ‘It’s okay to choose a future you want. You don’t owe anyone your talents’.” Dolls eyed him. “You taught me that. But I don’t think anyone’s ever taught _you_ that.”

Dolls grinned, small. “Well don’t worry. I think I’m starting to get it. Would you be okay with that?”

“Firefly scientists are kind of prestigious. Kind of douchey.”

Dolls spared a laugh. He looked behind Jeremy. Missing four were still heading over, rather quickly. No danger followed, but they were looking over their shoulders like it should be.

“I just wanted to thank you, Dolls.”

“What for?”

“For saving me. Since the moment we met. I was pretty alone when my mom died. And all the physical therapy would’ve sucked alone. And you had my back since the Outbreak. And for all those times you’ve saved me. And for—”

“You don’t need to, Jeremy. It’s what friends do, man.”

“Come on, Dolls, we’re not friends. We’re family.”

“Yo, dummy!”

Wynonna tossed a black, blank hat at Dolls. He fumbled with the thing, trying to catch it with the millisecond of warning he received. Kept him from wondering why they were all so out of breath, why Doc was looking back at the mall entrance. Waverly handed Jeremy some graphic tees she managed, smiling when he excitedly examined the Flash T-shirt she found. She called the other two over and handed over what she picked up for them. Wynonna did the same for Dolls, presenting a small collection of pants and long sleeve shirts.

“Enjoy your day at the mall?” he asked. She was still a bit out of breath.

“Enjoy long naps and bro talks in the truck?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your destiny is yours to choose...
> 
> Song Nicole played was Raining in Darling by Bonnie "Prince" Billy
> 
> These next two arcs I feel absolutely need to be written and posted together, just because the next arc ends on a pretty bad note and I don't want it hanging in the air (because I firmly believe fanfic is supposed to make you feel good, not shriek at the sky at two AM, especially regarding the characters we all love so much). Said event will have a good, reasonable ending, I promise. Might be a while before they're both up (looks like two or three chapters total), might not. I'll also be making some minor edits to previous chapters here and there (found some typos and kinda freaked out), so don't stress about those. Thank you all for your wonderful support on this project, it means a lot.


	22. Searching For Waverly Earp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, it has truly been too damn long. I really didn't mean for this update to take a whole friggin' month, but sometimes, that just how it be. So thanks for being super cool and super patient. Hope it was worth the wait.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING for this chapter: attempted suicide, mentions of past suicidal thoughts

Good weather streak: broken. Higher north now, lower temperatures. Some winds, strong to weak, mostly strong. Snowfall. Light, for the most part. Blizzard or two killing the great time they were making, bringing low visibility some days. All around, as remarked by Wynonna, they’d be just as fast on foot. The constant stops for gas and slow driving to avoid a wreck and clearing the road of parked cars was cancelling out this huge advantage. At least they had heat. And got to sit. Crowded space or not.

Rosita was pulling a sour face as Dolls pulled them into a truck stop. Not the first truck stop, not the first time she pulled it. Almost by reflex. So Doc asked, as everyone piled out to stretch their cramped legs. She recalled a girl she once dated. Truck driver.

“She was annoying,” Rosita finished the brief tale, “but damn she was good in bed.”

Wynonna was pulling one arm over her head, stretching it out with a long yawn. “Yeah, but that’s most people, isn’t it?”

Rosita nodded. No argument there.

Jeremy, nearby, zoned out. He remembered a truck driver he met once, passing through town. Young, tall, handsome. Ripped. He mumbled, practically drooling, “Biceps . . .”

Of course his fantasizing spread contagiously to Waverly, who leaned in to Nicole. She whispered some _graphic_ scenarios of her own. Nicole’s face soared shades above red, shades that made her hair look a completely different color in comparison.

Behind them trailed Doc, paces off, lighting the usual cigarette. Where he found them no one knew. Same went for liquor. At his deemed safe distance, one that wouldn’t stand a shot at igniting the truck, its gas, and blowing them all to pieces, he lit his match.

As did his eyes and all his senses, at the sight of people emerging from the backs of the semis parked all around the team. His unlit cigarette fell from his lips, the hand that was holding it steady leaving for one revolver. The other, still gripping the lit match, mirrored the motion, without thought. Somehow he’d forgotten about it and burned a small patch of his coat. Wynonna saw as the team followed in staying trained on these people, and snickered. Muttered something, again, about how gunslingers and long coats shouldn’t mix.

“A true gentleman dresses stylish,” he replied, “not like a common horse thief.”

Wynonna muttered, “Why anyone would _want_ to steal a horse is beyond me.”

Someone, importance radiating off him, approached the group. Two scarves around his neck, goggles over his eyes, jacket hood and beanie over his head, bandana over his face. Either cold or about to commit a serious crime and couldn’t find a ski mask like a normal criminal.

The stranger was quiet a moment, as were his people, as he looked over the team. Guns were out on both sides. Just as Wynonna was about to usher him along, ready to complain her arm was getting tired from pointing so intensely, he spoke.

“You should ditch the car.” He didn’t remove his gear, so his words were slightly muffled. He was just _that_ cold, maybe.

“I think you own plenty already.” Eliza beat Wynonna to the words. It was true; the lot was filled to the brim. Wynonna guessed truckers stuck together ‘til the end, like some club with a serious bro code.

“Yeah,” Wynonna agreed, “our friend worked real hard to steal this.” Dolls nodded. He _did_ almost get his head blown off.

“And I got electrocuted trying to get new batteries—four times!” Jeremy added.

Rosita laughed, “If you thought his hair was curly now . . .”

The stranger wasn’t having it. All he did was cock his shotgun. “Infected roam the woods nearby. We’re not getting killed because of your car.” No questions why or how they had a car, only demands to get rid of it. Like it’d happened before.

“Shooting is worse than a running car,” Dolls reminded. “They can’t chase a car, but they can sure as hell chase a person with a gun.” His hands raised in surrender, Dolls lowered his weapon. Slowly, his team followed. These truck stop people did, too, and finally the stranger joined. Dolls nodded in satisfaction. “Maybe we can come to an agreement.”

“Hold on a second.” Wynonna stared off, past this masked stranger failing the vigilante look and for a redhead elsewhere. She even started to walk over, despite her peers’ protests. “Holy shit!”

“Wynonna! Bitch!”

Wynonna met this person, an old friend—her only friend, really, aside from Shorty—from Purgatory. She never imagined in a million years she’d see Mercedes Gardner ever again. Of course, she could do without the other Gardner siblings, who, against all of Wynonna’s hopes and beliefs, managed to survive this far, too.

-

Mercedes deemed Wynonna’s team friendly. The hooded, bundled up man didn’t care and told her to back off, so naturally she went the Mercedes way and told him to fuck off. Those surrounding, clearly trusting Mercedes more, began to disperse. The man took a frustrated breath in response, defeated. Muttered some muffled curses, too.

Mercedes showed Wynonna, Waverly, and Nicole around. Doc began a poker game at the car with Rosita and Eliza, while Jeremy and Dolls did a check up on their vehicle. Dolls also talked with the unidentified man about what to expect in the area. And by “what to expect” he meant the prowling Infected. The man picked up on that, easy.

The setup here was well-established. Some people had been here since the beginning, truckers transporting foods and beverages. Foods and beverages that lasted months, years, and well beyond the recommended usage date. Not the biggest worry in the world, now. Sicknesses be damned.

The Gardners had left Purgatory a few years back—recommending no one go visit now—and stumbled across the stop on their travels. Mercedes somehow convinced the group’s previous leader to let them stay. A man, she claimed, worlds better than the current, “dedicated douchebag”. She explained the current man in charge was as difficult as he seemed. He made all the rules and expected everyone to follow, no matter their opinion. He didn’t usually make deals or excuses, not that he was making one now with Dolls, and for the most part he was rude. Mercedes remarked her own ideas for policies were much more efficient than what he had in play, not that he cared much to consider. But he kept the peace and they were still alive, so good enough.

They rationed food as well as possible, hunted whatever wildlife they spotted in the woods nearby, never made too much noise, and slept in the backs of the trucks at night. They closed the doors overnight, one person working a night shift to release everyone in the morning. Ultimate way to stay safe, even if it was terrible in the hotter parts of the year. Even with her horror of a brother, she mumbled under her breath, they’d managed to stay safe and without any incidences for the span of years. Wynonna told her not to hold her breath; her team was known to bring trouble. The way Tucker Gardner roamed too close and stared at Waverly despite her clear discomfort, Nicole agreed trouble was on its way.

At the end of the tour and the end of a short conversation catching up on recent events, feeling sorry Willa didn’t make it in the Outbreak (a lie but technically true; the real Willa wasn’t the same afterwards), the Gardners’ lives being the more uneventful one, Wynonna asked about places to forage around. Her team was low on water and the weather wasn’t exactly perfect for finding old stores. Especially now, with the knowledge of Infected creeping around. Her old friend revealed some shopping centers around the place, biggest being a mile or two down the road. Some fast food joints, some stores in a tiny shopping center—though some of these buildings were collapsed now, courtesy of the mad masked leader of these truck stop people, when he tried to kill a group of Clickers with an old grenade he had stashed. Worked, for the most part.

According to Mercedes, their best bet was the gas station, just down the road. More gas, too, unlike here, where the older inhabitants used up all the fuel long ago. By now Dolls knew this; Hooded Man told him, quickly, as soon as he asked if there was any to spare. Mercedes’s group hadn’t yet bothered with the gas station’s convenience store because the place was infested with Infected, for a long time now. By now it was probably full of spores and Clickers itching to kill something, if they were even still alive. None touched the place before because, the way these trucks were loaded up, compared to a tiny shopping center, it didn’t seem necessary to even look at. One man’s trash . . . Mercedes said it was a huge risk with little payoff, but the gamble might’ve been worth it. Wynonna assured her team was always taking risks, and for the most part everything’s been worth something.

At the nervous request of Hooded Man the team was off, Mercedes bidding farewell to the only people, clearly, she was happy to see. Wynonna almost wanted to take her along. But that might’ve meant her siblings, too, so the answer was a clear, fat, loud _no_.

The poker game was packed up, just as Rosita and her incredible luck were about to finally be dethroned by Doc, and Wynonna exchanged information about the store. Confident in their teamwork and individual abilities, even Dolls was agreeing to give it a look. Water was important, after all, and definitely worth not putting off. Dangerous or not, guaranteed to be found or not.

Dolls looked for the places on his map, while Wynonna recalled it was Waverly and Nicole’s turn to watch over the truck. Then gave off the usual gagging noise and warned them to “keep it PG”. Everyone piled in afterwards, Waverly happily remarking to Nicole they’d finally get some real alone time and kissing her on the cheek before entering. Nicole noticed, behind them, Tucker Gardner, staring, a disgusted expression to his face. _Leave it,_ she warned herself, tense. _We’ll be gone soon anyway._

-

Goodbyes and good fortunes were tossed about, then they were off. The six for this job readied casually, almost like nothing. Just another raid to demolish zombies and hope a store had beer and potato chips. Average Tuesday.

Wynonna lingered when it was time to go, as expected. Reminders to Waverly: stay safe, be safe, keep a loaded gun, keep a watchful eye, be safe, don’t die, no screwing in the truck or anywhere ever. Reminder to Nicole: “If anything happens I’ll slap you into a blonde.”

Once alone, the couple sat on the hood of the truck, facing the open road and all its possibilities. What they could see of it, anyhow. SUV sat near the guardrail to this raised road, some old, abandoned pipe sticking from underneath. Attached to nothing but air, holding nothing but snow. Nicole’s police-issue holster carried its assigned sidearm on her waist, Hetty Tatenhill’s borrowed machete and holster on the other side, rifle from Perry’s group strewn across her lap. Waverly’s own black shotgun the same, a revolver tucked away in her back pocket, hardly used. escrima sticks in the other pocket, a knife in the front. Both geared for war, but sitting on a stolen SUV hood, talking, legs hanging over and swinging about like children. Smiles, laughs, stories.

Then Waverly shuddered from the cold. Nicole planned to go to the interior to grab her backpack or Waverly’s to put a blanket to use. Waverly stopped her. Assured she was fine, just a little cold. A _little_ cold.

“How did you know?” Waverly asked a moment later. “How did you know what to do? I’ve been meaning to ask but I never got to it. Special police hypothermia training?”

“No,” Nicole spared the undying smile that came with every second spent with Waverly Earp, “but it’d probably be a good idea.” She suddenly shuddered herself, ignoring her girlfriend’s _I told you it wasn’t a big deal!_ expression, then gestured vaguely to the snow. “I don’t know how you Canadians live with the cold like this.”

Waverly shivered again at the thought of all those long winters, locked up in the homestead. And Willa with cabin fever. She joked, “We slather ourselves in maple syrup. Works like a charm.”

“Of course! I should’ve guessed it.” Nicole let their giggling come to a close before delivering the true answer. Briefly, “I caught it two years ago. If you can ‘catch’ it.” Waverly hoped for more details, but the usual nothing struck again. Another shudder distracted her. “Baby, are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m allowed to be cold, you know.”

She rested her head on Nicole’s shoulder. Inhaled vanilla. Felt an arm wrap around her, cold lips press a kiss to her head. They enjoyed a silence. No gunshots, no shrieking zombies. No societal chatters, growls of cars. That hum of humankind and their fancy technology, their planet-polluting financial endeavors. Just each other. Minds, for once, not racing a mile a minute. Waverly found hers difficult to ignore, unusual since meeting Nicole. Nicole’s presence, touch, had a magical way of relaxing her, instantly. But right now there was one, burning question.

“Nic,” Waverly hadn’t moved to speak, not even opened her closed eyes, “how come you never talk about your past?”

Nicole was slow to answer. Waverly feared she crossed some line. “Honestly,” Nicole said flatly, “it feels better to run from it. Sure hurts a hell of a lot less.”

Waverly shifted to sit upright again. Nicole’s eyes left an empty stare of the road ahead. Waverly took her hand.

“I’m here, you know. If you want to talk. Bottling everything up can hurt more.” She had a lifetime of experience herself. “Trust me.”

Nicole was quiet a moment. Thinking it over. Again Waverly feared she crossed some line. Nicole’s thumb ran over the back of her hand, eyes searching the ground for an answer. Then they found the road again.

“When I traveled with my brother and sister we teamed up with all sorts of survivors. I met a lot of different people, some good and some terrible. Three years ago we met a doctor and helped her find her son. They joined us afterwards. I was in a bad place, so I didn’t take great care of myself. I ate scraps. I didn’t sleep. I dressed light and carried almost nothing because I thought it would help me navigate faster. I guess it made running easy. Especially when it mattered most.”

She paused, thinking of Michael’s demise. Waverly squeezed her hand, grounding.

“Winter came by and she noticed I had hypothermia. Namely from irrational behaviors, the constant fatigue, underdressing more than usual. For a while I refused to be treated but Michael brought me to reason.” She leaned close to whisper, “Alcohol.” Waverly spared a chuckle.

Continuing, “She treated me even when I was being an asshole and retreated me when it got worse.” She shook her head, a small smile on her lips. “I’m pretty sure she had a crush on me, too. But the doctor thing was too much like Shae so I kept at a distance.”

Then she realized: she hadn’t “seen” Shae in a while. Not even in dreams. Not after Victoria died. Odd; every time something went wrong they’d have a screaming match in her head. Guilt versus poor self-image, Nicole labeled it. Maybe having Waverly in her life was better than she thought. And there was high praise there already.

“I wish I could’ve thanked her properly. Instead of being an ungrateful little shit.”

“Where is she now?” Waverly asked.

“There were bandits in the area. She died. They killed some others in our group, so Victoria started a stupid war. Everyone told her to leave it be, but she didn’t listen. Because, you know, she’s Victoria.”

Waverly could agree, easily. A part of her felt rude for looking so low on Nicole’s sister, but then she remembered how she treated Nicole. Too similar to Willa. Brought back a lot of bad memories.

“I really wanted to leave that place,” Nicole continued, “but Victoria was dead set on revenge. She even sent the kid to convince me. We were close, so it worked. In the end I let my gun off by mistake. Infected swarmed in and killed Michael, no matter what I did to lead them off. Victoria was Victoria about it, so I left. I drifted along until I met Lou’s boys, and stayed there for two years, almost three. It was better than being alone. Physically, I wasn’t alone. Then one day, and you’ll never believe this, some crazy woman about four feet tall showed up and demanded her sister.”

Waverly was grinning. “What a crazy woman.” She eyed Nicole’s profile. “Did it work out for the undeniably gorgeous woman? Oh, the crazy one, too.”

“The undeniably gorgeous woman found her sister and went on some journey to find her mom.” Nicole indicated herself. “The crazy one was okay.” She gazed into hazel-green eyes. “More than okay. She finally stopped circling the drain, dropped her dumb accent, and smiled again. And re-opened her heart. Big time.”

Waverly’s grin was wider now. Her eyes fell to where their fingers held dearly to each other. “That accent was really sexy, you know.”

Nicole laughed. “No, it really wasn’t.”

“Uh yeah, it really was.” She pressed a kiss to Nicole’s cheek. “Thank you for sharing.”

“I’m glad I did. I’ve never said it out loud before. It felt good. Like a weight off my chest. Thanks for listening.”

“Of course, baby. You know none of that is on you, right? Because it isn’t.”

Nicole nodded. “I’m starting to see that now.”

Changing the subject was Waverly’s intention now, as they fell into another, comfortable silent stare. The peaceful atmosphere, for some reason, reminded her of how Ward used to take them hunting. Waverly was awfully young, not even ten. The day she saw her father drop a deer was the day she turned vegan. Whole thing felt wrong. Nicole could see that. So Waverly never went on those trips, after that mishap, and instead stayed with Uncle Curtis and Aunt Gus. Hunting became Ward, Willa, and Wynonna’s thing. Though from her one outing she was teased, in all her youthful tininess, for being unable to handle a rifle. She really only took to her current shotgun once the Outbreak hit just to spite Willa’s endless torment. Satisfying, truly.

Waverly thought it important to demonstrate just how clumsy she used to be. She felt a bit guilty for pushing Nicole’s tragic backstory. Nicole didn’t seem bummed out, seemed relieved almost, but Waverly was convinced she was. She meant for a small, controlled exaggeration, but accidentally overdid it. Closest to that guardrail, her long gun fell from her grip and onto the snowed-over grass below the highway bump. Luckily the thing didn’t go off. No harm, so Nicole teased Waverly relentlessly from the car hood as she retrieved the thing. Until stopping mid-sentence. Waverly swore she heard a thud.

“Nicole?”

Nothing. Waverly yanked her gun from the snow and rushed to the car.

“Nicole!”

Her girlfriend, collapsed on the cold ground. She prepped her weapon.

“Baby, are you o—”

Arms, wrapped in a heavy jacket, closing around her neck. Her shotgun left her fingers again. She swore. She grasped for her knife, but then cruel, unrelenting arms restrained her searching wrists.

And brought her world to dark.

-

“Nicole!”

She jumped awake, to find herself sitting against the side of the SUV. In her fit of reality slamming into her, she accidentally smacked her head against solid metal. Felt how her shoulder ached, where she fell from the car hood onto light snow and asphalt. An aching from her temple. Knocked out by her own, set-aside rifle. She’d moved it when Waverly left to fetch the dropped shotgun. Rifle was gone now. Pistol, too. Stolen cannibal machete was here, though. Wynonna Earp was before her. She looked around. Where was _Waverly_ Earp?

“Nicole, are you okay?”

For a second she couldn’t understand Wynonna’s question. Still waking up.

“I wish I’d stop waking up like this,” Nicole grumbled. “Where’s Waverly?” Others had their guns drawn, looking around. Bad sign.

“Nicole, what happened?”

Time to get slapped blonde. “I’m not really sure. Waverly dropped her gun over the rail and went to get it. I was watching her, I swear—”

“It’s okay. I know you were.” In a serious sense, no jokes. Not the time. “What else?”

“That’s it. Someone knocked me out, I think. I remember getting hit. That’s it.” She looked into Wynonna’s blue, not-at-all hazel-green eyes. “I’m really sorry, Wynonna.”

“Haught, it’s okay. It’ll be okay.” She didn’t sound so sure. Even she didn’t believe it.

“Nothin’,” Doc declared, pistols in hand, walking over.

“Any recommendations, Doctor?” Wynonna asked.

“Findin’ her, fast.”

“Any _real_ recommendations, you old ass?”

He indicated where they’d just returned from. “Searchin’ around.” Wynonna shot a look. _More._ He shrugged. “It’s our best bet right now.”

Faster than humanly possible, a plan was set. Wynonna and Nicole would check the truck stop, because they both suspected Tucker without a hint of doubt. Others would search that shopping center Mercedes mentioned. Dolls tried to join Wynonna, or keep her from the stop. Hooded Man wasn’t someone he trusted. But Wynonna asked him to stay, so he stayed. If Waverly was over in that shopping center, she’d want Dolls leading that charge. Doc was fast, Eliza was trained, Rosita was sharp, and Jeremy was smart, but Dolls was the one she trusted. He understood. He’d want the same, if this were Eliza or Jeremy, to know his loved ones were in the right hands.

Nicole had to grab an extra pistol. Bad luck, taking a borrowed gun to war. Doc’s philosophy. She saw no fault. But her rifle was gone, her pistol was gone—no other choice. Smart of Tucker to cover his ass, render himself more powerful. As if she wouldn’t hack him apart with the machete, guns against her or not.

“You think Tucker took her, too?” Nicole asked, keeping up with Wynonna’s fast pace and checking out the new pistol. Identical to hers, not much to relearn.

“I _know_ it’s Tucker. Non-con and taking what he want’s his passion.”

“Jesus.”

“Just another rich asshole who gets everything.”

Nicole huffed a frustrated breath. “I hate those types.”

“Same here. Privilege really helps you soar, doesn’t it? Fucking prick. I can’t believe he didn’t die in the Outbreak. That he even made it this far. Makes the rest of us look pretty average.”

Tucking away the new gun, before changing her mind and keeping it in hand, “Did you get through with the store?”

“Yep. All good. We’re set for weeks. Even if we only have a few days left.” A sadder tone on that last comment. Nicole felt the same.

“I’ll miss them. Jeremy and the others.”

Wynonna immediately thought of Dolls. “Me too.” She glanced briefly to Nicole, still fidgeting with the gun anxiously, as if it were a foreign tool. “I hope you don’t think this is your fault. It isn’t. Among many other things.” She pushed at the weapon, until finally Nicole rested it in her holster. Still present. “Not your fault,” she repeated, to be clear. Nicole didn’t seem convinced.

“I still think you should smack me blonde.”

“Hell no. We already have a token blonde. Who, surprisingly, is far from a bimbo. And has some hella sexy moves. And is fit. And tall. And kind of chill.”

“Don’t fall in love with her, Earp,” she teased. “So you and Doc—one-time thing only?” Wynonna’s bowed head jumped up. She hadn’t told anyone about her and Doc hooking up. Nicole smiled, dimple popping in a smart way. “Called it.”

“Maybe I _will_ smack you blonde after all.”

“If it’s any consultation, I think they’re just friends.”

“I know you lesbians have an eight-year friendship requirement, but the way they shoot googly eyes? Not friendly.”

“I’ve never seen Dolls return those googly eyes.”

“Y—Okay, this is dangerously close to high school gossip territory, so I’m shutting this shit down.”

“Dolls likes you, that’s all I’m sayin’.”

“ ‘Likes’ me? We’re going middle school now?”

Sly smile, smart dimple. “You said no high school.”

“My god, you and Waverly are perfect for each other.”

“Wynonna and Dolls sittin’ in a tree—”

“Don’t you fucking finish that.”

Nicole only laughed. “Fine. I’ll wait for Waverly.”

“Great. Two of you. For the record, I get to kick Tucker first. Right to the nads.”

“Can I finish the song?”

“Hell no. Fuck no.”

“Then no deal.”

A shake of the head. “I really hate you.”

-

Same people, same concerned expressions. No noisy truck growling and threatening their peaceful day, so they were out and about, going through supplies, doing laundry, whispering about whatever truck stop people talk there was to talk about. All fell silent when Wynonna and Nicole entered, quickly, purposefully, confidently, like they were supposed to be here. Hooded Man made himself known but was pushed aside by Wynonna, who didn’t slow her pace until Mercedes Gardner was present before her, equally as spooked as her peers. Beth Gardner to her left. No Tucker in sight. So far, so bad.

Wynonna explained the situation, brief, simple, down to the point. Surrounding residents, by their expressions, didn’t look too surprised at the accusation Tucker Gardner abducted Waverly. Good to know even the end of the world can’t change some people. Maybe even empower them.

At Wynonna’s demands for Waverly’s whereabouts, Beth Gardner quickly jumped in to defend her brother. She tried to get Mercedes along, too, but Mercedes wasn’t about to defend their brother, of all people. Wynonna was surprised by now she hadn’t popped him in the head and left him for nature to handle. Nicole, too, the longer this went on. Mercedes couldn’t get a damn word in, not the way her sister so eagerly defended someone not worth defending.

“He likes to wander off,” was her last argument. “He gets bored; there isn’t much to do out here. Maybe your Waverly did the same.”

“Can it, Minnie Mouse,” Wynonna said. “Waverly isn’t stupid, and she sure as hell isn’t shady.”

Jaw agape, eyes wide, look of insult to her. “Minnie Mouse?”

Clearly not picking up on Wynonna’s arguments, beginning with the fact Nicole was knocked unconscious and robbed of weapons. This wasn’t some elaborate scavenger hunt with riddles and twists and turns. This was a threat, and to her sister’s life. Mercedes tried to understand, but honestly couldn’t see Tucker actually _taking_ someone, much less someone who was armed and with a group. She agreed it was odd he wasn’t here, but then it was truthful he’d sometimes sneak off for days at a time. But no reason to, this time. Wynonna accused Beth of being involved, and from here voices were raised. So Hooded Man appeared to control the chaos ensuing. His demands to be informed in order to settle this _for_ them were met empty, with Wynonna reminding him his entire face was covered, his words muffled beyond recognition. It was clear he rolled his hidden eyes before he took a breath and removed the gear. Wynonna swore, at the sight of yet another Purgatorian, one she wasn’t particularly fond of. More so than others. He was her oldest ex from Purgatory, a huge headache she knew was named Jonas but referred to as “Anus”—because he was nothing more than a total ass.

“Oh wow,” she scoffed, “this day only gets worse!”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he admitted, “but now you’re causing trouble. It’s time for you to leave. I won’t ask again.”

“Fess up Tucker’s hiding spot and we’ll be gone.”

“Tucker isn’t the best person here. Far from it.” Ignoring Beth’s on-cue protests, “But he’s useful and he’s one of my people. Under my care. So I’m protecting him. Now get out of here, Wynonna. You and your friend.”

Wynonna grabbed him by the arm when he turned to leave. They weren’t done. This was about Waverly. They wouldn’t be done until she was physically present and not God-knows-where.

“After all you’ve done to me,” she snarled, “this is the least you can do.”

He didn’t look entirely moved. “Where is _she_? Or _he?_ I didn’t see them earlier.”

They were stuck in their own conversation now, one Nicole and the Gardners couldn’t hope to understand without explanation. So Nicole used the chance to study Beth, thinking her beyond suspicious. Noted how hard she tried not to look at a lone shed a ways off.

“Funny,” Wynonna was saying, “you really didn’t seem to care before. _She’s_ not here. At all.”

Jonas looked moved, for whoever “she” was. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Wynonna crossed her arms. “No, you’re really not. Her name isn’t Jonas and she isn’t you, so you don’t care.”

Nicole looked back to them. Saw just how bad Wynonna’s comment landed, the way Jonas’s frustration returned.

“Leave and never come back.” He walked off, pulling the gear back over his face. “If I see you again I won’t hesitate t—”

“Me neither,” Wynonna stopped. She bid Mercedes a friendly farewell with a nod of her head, and Beth a crueler one with her middle finger.

They walked off. Nicole was surprised, Wynonna leaving at someone’s request so easy. Then she was stopping them. Nicole assumed it was to talk further, make a new game plan, so she suggested the shed Beth couldn’t keep her eyes off of.

“You noticed, too?” Wynonna asked. Clear this was her new idea. “What am I saying? You’re a cop, of course you noticed.”

“I think you’d make a decent deputy yourself,” Nicole offered, impressed.

“Hell no. More of a robber.” She lifted a flask from her back pocket, downing half of it before offering the rest to Nicole. “Liquid luck?”

Nicole studied the thing, its intricate patterns. “Wait, isn’t that Doc’s flask?”

Wynonna shook it, contents swishing around inside. “Robber,” she grinned. Nicole drank, smiling a same smile. No denying Wynonna had some unique skills of her own.

Onward to the spotlight-on-star-of-the-show obvious shed, lonely in a field of grass that stretched too far for the eye to hope to follow. Empty, borrowed flask and Buntline on Wynonna’s hip, borrowed machete and pistol on Nicole’s. A cough or two here—Wynonna felt a cold coming on—and boots crunching occasional car window glass or other, discarded belongings. Total, anxious silence, hearts racing for Waverly Earp. And Nicole too polite to ask who the hell the cryptic “she” was.

“You can ask.” Wynonna Earp: mind reader.

Nicole cleared her throat. Felt dry. Had she been drinking enough water? Too focused on Waverly to recall. “Only if that’s alright.”

“Rainbows and sunshines, Haught.”

“Who’s ‘she’?”

“Shitty childhood, hated everyone, left Purgatory—you know the story. When I left Purgatory I left with a dude. Jonas. Still as gross as I left him. Maybe a bit more paranoid now. Or, like, a lot. Don’t hide that look. I know I chose the wrong dude to run away with. I knew it back then, too, but two paychecks in one bank account is _much_ better.”

No fight there. One of the reasons Nicole stayed with Shae: financial stability.

“There was a pregnancy scare. Jonas ran, immediately. Turns out it was nothing. Not like he was around to find out. Looks like he thinks I actually had a kid, too. When I was bumming around Europe, I’ll admit, I got a little wrapped up in the idea. You know, maybe having a little one would’ve made me get my shit together faster. I guess now’s fine, too. Actually, now I’m kind of glad I _didn’t_ have a kid now. Can you imagine having your kid in all this shit?”

Nicole thought of her group three years ago, how there was a ten-year-old. The one she was close to. When she visited Victoria she expected to see him, too, but nothing. She hoped she’d missed him. Or, wherever he was, he was safe.

“That wouldn’t be easy,” she said. Wynonna nodded.

“Probably harder than running into an ex that kinda fucked you up a bit in the break up.”

“I’m sorry, Wynonna.”

Her fingers skirted across the flask, left a moment later. Like she was reaching for a drink before remembering there was nothing left. “Might’ve been nice, though. They say a kid’s your immortality.” She paused, admitting, “I heard that from Dolls.” Nicole spared a chuckle.

Could be why Wynonna was so fond of family, holding what was left close. Why she tried so hard to forgive Willa, keeping a more innocent image from a different time, before the universe proved her wrong. Why she was so set on going to her mother in Sanctuary and getting Waverly there, to be safe from their real life, sci-fi horrors.

“I really hope you get to Sanctuary,” Nicole offered. “Both of you. And that your mother’s there—”

“Whoa Haught, let’s not get sappy here.” She relented, “But thank you. For everything. Since day one.”

Nicole grinned, “Whoa, Earp, let’s not get sappy here.”

Wynonna bumped her shoulder, and the two shared a laugh. “You know, I had this really nice necklace I used to wear. There was a good luck charm and a charm to ward off curses. I kind of wish I still had it. Could really come in handy about now. I mean, it’s in a better place, but right now I’d rather stick the damn thing around Waverly’s neck so this shit can stop happening.”

Nicole nodded in agreement. “Where is it now?”

She took a breath. “My Uncle Curtis and Aunt Gus were some of the first people to be bitten in Purgatory. Only made sense some of Purgatory’s finest—not those corrupt rich assholes we had, genuine _finest_ —went down first. I rushed my family off to the homestead. Curtis and Gus were already bitten, so I knew there was nothing I could do for them. I went back to their ranch later, by myself. I found them, dead. I guess they didn’t want to turn. Honestly, I’d probably do the same.”

Nicole nodded again. “Me too.”

“I buried them, together, by Curtis’s tomatoes. Because he loved those damned things so much. I thought I’d throw in my necklace. As good luck in the afterlife or whatever and as a thank you for looking after Waverly, for always supporting her while I was off being a teenage dipshit. And adult dipshit. Dipshit all around.”

Steps before the shed now. Steps before, hopefully, Waverly found and a very dead Tucker Gardner. Or at least a Tucker Gardner with the shit kicked out of him. Wynonna turned to Nicole one last time.

“For the record, Curtis would’ve really liked you. Gus, too.” She patted her partner’s shoulder. “I know I do. Don’t give me a sappy smile, you sap.” She turned back to the shed, a trooper on its last legs, baring the wind as a strong gust hit it. “We’ve got a damsel to save.”

Wynonna took Nicole’s direction, as thoughtful as Dolls’s but executed more like a person and less like a drone. Wynonna rounded the rear of the small shed, in case of unexpected backup or Tucker firing on Nicole, who’d enter through the front. Nicole, ready to finish this all, kicked the door right in and spilled her demands—to an empty room.

Wynonna rounded the front to join her inside, just as Nicole discovered her rifle, sitting against a wall. Unused, but proof Tucker was here. The weapon was identifiable by a carved “PC”—Perry Crofte’s initials—and a long scar across the rifle’s barrel. There was a used bullet shell on the ground, same type as Waverly’s revolver. A small blood trail, too. Not enough to be from a gunshot, but enough from a graze, a minor stab wound, or a punch. Wynonna hoped it was all at once.

Nicole followed the red trail as far as it went, from splintered wood to a small patch of snow to grass to absolutely nothing. All just outside the shed, two or three paces off. Not enough snow to pick up footprints. So no trail at all, and no easy way to Waverly. Both Wynonna and Nicole swore, Wynonna remarking they should’ve brought Doc. Definitely would’ve made things easier. But Doc was far off, by the SUV and by the shopping center. Not enough time to turn back, and no way in hell was Wynonna leaving Nicole, or vice-versa.

“There you are!”

Nicole and Wynonna spun around, Nicole so fast her recently-returned rifle nearly fell from her grip. Mercedes Gardner, before them, panting.

“Dude,” Wynonna started, “ _never_ do that again.”

Then Mercedes was apologizing for earlier. What Tucker did was bold, but that wasn’t proof he didn’t do it. And why would Wynonna lie? She knew Wynonna. Wynonna Earp only messes with people who deserve it, not innocents. No way this was a trick. She even admitted Tucker learning his lesson or possibly meeting his end wouldn’t keep her up at night. He was more a liability than an asset, from the beginning. Sure, killing him wasn’t the answer, but if it happened she wouldn’t bat an eye.

She offered her help in the matter, suggesting they check a restaurant a few yards back. It was a place Tucker frequented when on his little tantrums, disappearing for days at a time. As if it’d help him get whatever dumb thing it was he craved. She finished with a warning, one revealing Jonas was on to them, suspecting correctly they hadn’t given up on Tucker. Someone dies on his watch, he’d lose what little influence he had over their people. So Wynonna, after thanking her old friend, told her to keep Jonas distracted, then ran off with Nicole. A few minutes was all they needed.

-

“You’re not claustrophobic, are you?”

John Henry, wild-eyed, as tense as a middle school principal, stiffly gazed back at Dolls. “Why, no. Are you?”

“And here I thought your poker face was a winner.”

Dolls lifted debris at his feet, tossing it uselessly aside to clear the path of the current, destroyed walkway. The back half of the building was intact, so it was worth checking. Suspicious noises emerging, too, either from the winds or from their target. With their luck, winds. But worth a check.

And Dolls noticed, since entering the former store, Doc’s sudden, uncomfortable look. At first he thought maybe the man was cold. Then he noticed how the hotshot gambler, occasional bar brawlin’ champ, high alcohol tolerance, ladies’ man John Henry was looking around, more cautious than Dolls had ever seen him, like something was about to pop up and decapitate him. The ruined building provided a tiny space to sneak through, so Dolls really only had one guess.

“My poker face,” Doc huffed, “has won me more than you can count.” For a third, unsuccessful time he reached for the flask in his back pocket, finding nothing. He knew who stole it. At first it was funny, but now he really needed a drink.

Dolls looked back, paces ahead of his single partner. The other three were by the SUV, one person watching the truck and two others inspecting the closer buildings. “I can count to ten. Not that you’ve won more than ten bucks.”

Doc gave the fakest smile he could manage, despite practically shaking in fear. “Very funny, Xavier.”

Dolls was grinning, amused. “Like that? I’ve been told I have comedian potential.”

“By who, a delusional drunk? Your humorless drill sergeant? Your dear old mama?”

Dolls motioned him over to help lift a fallen wooden pillar, trapped horizontally across the makeshift hall by surrounding debris. Quickly they passed through, lifting together. Dolls held the thing up while Doc darted to the other side, held it, then dropped it when both were safely across. The pillar and its bordering crap fell together, crushing the possible only exit.

Dolls promised they’d be out soon, even offered to take over this job alone, but Doc assured he’d be fine. They were in the intact parts now, with more open space. He’d, truthfully, be just fine. Dolls wanted to ask about his phobia, but decided it best to table for later. His intention was to focus up, take down Tucker if he was here.

Turns out he wasn’t here, and the pair, disappointed, were exiting and entering the other buildings, all perfectly held up.

“When I was fourteen years old my mama lay sick with cancer,” Doc said out of the blue, after yet another building was secured, no signs of Tucker or Waverly. He removed his hat as he always did when discussing something of importance. So Dolls made a note to listen up. “A cruel cancer, uncarin'. It refused to die, but so did my mama. She was strong. She pretended it didn’t bother her, but I knew it did. Oh, I _know_ it did. When it got worse all she did was hide. She wanted me to stay strong, and I did. But I wanted to be by her side—she was my mama! I crawled into a space beneath the house, under her room. Night after night I listened to her cry. And beg. And pray. And she died anyway. And I never again could stand tight quarters.”

Dolls put a hand to his shoulder, grounding. “I’m really sorry, man. Was she in pain when she passed?”

“In her sleep, she died. Peacefully. Before any of this, when the world was as innocent as her.”

Dolls nodded. “She’d be proud of you. For leaving Bobo, helping us.”

“And fibbin’ my fibs? Not entirely. She always told me not to lie. What did I do? I made a livin’ off it. And then I lied to Wynonna.”

Dolls’s brow furrowed. “Lied to Wynonna? About what, your alcohol tolerance last week?”

Doc defended, right off, “I hadn’t eaten. I assure you, my tolerance is as high as they come.”

“What about, then? Is that why you two were fighting for so long? Things certainly seem better now.”

Hat off. “Only because Wynonna is as forgivin’ as the angels in the sky. Even if she won’t admit it herself.” Dolls nodded, agreeing. Doc’s fingers ran over his Stetson a few times, as if considering what to say next. If he should _say_ what he was about to. “When I told Wynonna I knew of Sanctuary, that I’d been there, I lied.”

Dolls tried not to make that look he made when something ticked him off. Doc noticed. He tried, “Willa had just died, so I was tryin’ to provide some hope. To pay off my debt, leadin’ Bobo so close to your heels. That is, until I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“And she’s okay with this?” Dolls’s fingers clenched and unclenched, still trying to hide his growing frustration. Just when he’d learn to trust the man.

“Water under the bridge.” Hat back on. “She wants to focus at the task at hand. No, she wasn’t happy with me at first, and perhaps she isn’t now, but for the most part—”

“Water under the bridge.” Dolls’s tone was a bit too sharp. Doc cleared his throat.

“Partner, are we—”

Dolls stopped in front of Doc on his way out, onto the next building. “We need to focus. Waverly’s still out there.”

Doc didn’t let him leave, not yet. “And we shall find her. As a team. Not as rivals. Not at each other’s throats.”

“We’re all good.” Judging by Dolls’s tone and expression, they weren’t.

“Haven’t we been through all this before? Haven’t we agreed it’s better if—”

“It’s better if we all stop lying to each other. Period.”

“One lie, to make her feel better. You would do the same, don’t you deny it. But I assure you, Mister Dolls, I am here a friend, not a fiend. I have lied my last lie, I have hidden my last truth. Is that alright with you?”

Dolls huffed. “We all get one screw-up, Henry. You’ve used yours.”

Dolls started off, and Doc tipped the brim of his hat. “How very kind of you to forgive me.”

-

Her breaths echoed, no different than a shout in a silent canyon. Heart pounding in her throat so strong she gagged on it. Hands gripping a blood-stained knife unsurely, like she’d never handled one before. Knees trembling. She feared if she darted for the exit she’d stumble over them. Immediate game over.

“I just want to talk!”

_So why’d you knock me and my girlfriend out and take our guns?_

She’d managed her revolver’s second bullet before it was lost in the struggle here, to some abandoned restaurant. Abandoned because of a deadly fugal virus, not bad food. She woke in some shed, no Nicole in sight, to find Tucker Gardner, Purgatory’s town pervert, towering over her, waiting to talk. Only talk, luckily. Politely she tried to leave. No luck. Rudely she tried to leave. No luck—just this crappy interaction alone in some restaurant, small knife in small, shaking hands.

She tried to fight him for her shotgun. No luck. Declined it and ran. Tried the revolver. No luck. Tried the revolver again, some desperate shouts to anyone who might be kind enough to listen. She tripped over a rock, dropped it, pressed on. No time to stop. Course not. Waverly questioned why she was always the one being chased—first Olive, now Tucker. From cannibal to entitled, rich asshole. She preferred the cannibal.

“This isn’t very fair. Don’t you trust me? I’m just trying to help you!”

_Hell no! Psycho—you’re a psycho!_

A silence. A rustling—was he moving something? Door closed. Shotgun cocked—she knew that sound best.

Hazel-green eyes peeked from a corner. Exit. Tucker was puppy-dogging the exit. There was another out back, surely. Did she have time? What if it was blocked? Best not to risk it. Break a window, maybe? Plenty nearby. Some already broken or cracked, as usual.

Footsteps. Glass crunching under boots.

“I don’t like games, Waverly.”

_So stop playing and go away!_

She peeked again. Retreated immediately. He was headed right over. On her left, following this structure, was the kitchen. On her right, more seating, some crates. On her right and turning the corner: the exit, unblocked. Straight shot—worth it?

No. Sneak over. Smarter option.

He entered the kitchen, holding his gut where he’d been stabbed. Did almost nothing to him. She vaulted over the crate to her right. Carefully, tip of her toes, echoing breaths, thudding pulse, shaking hands, useless knife. Blade was sharpened to all hell but versus a shotgun it was more an obstacle than a weapon. Historian with limited skills or professional samurai—both would be screwed. She had the escrima sticks, too, but right now they served less purpose than a knife. Both were best used if she was grabbed. Then she’d have to run like hell again, because the bigger opponents so rarely fall after one measly stab. Tried and tested. Great luck today.

Crunching. Broken plates in the kitchen, dropped in a hurry. _Fuck my day job, it’s the apocalypse!_ Something about it reminded Waverly of Shorty, Curtis, Gus. How fast they were bitten. How no one could do a thing. How the hell’d that guy walk free while infected? Faulty scanners? Was he sneaking around between zones? Did he even know? Ward didn’t. He was too drunk to notice. But then, in life, that was his special skill. Ward. Would he be on board with this whole thing? Probably. Sanctuary’s protected walls meant he’d get to lounge around all day. So what if he’d awkwardly bump into his ex-wife every day? Sure beats outrunning people like Tucker.

Waverly tried to paint the trail. Quickly. Tucker wasn’t taking breaks, wasn’t walking slow. Wasn’t unarmed. Wasn’t to be taken for granted. Crazy person + gun = danger. Always. Even if they can’t work the damn thing.

Long legs, big steps. Like Nicole’s, but nowhere near as comforting. Waverly could only pray Nicole was alright.

Then she stopped breathing.

Tucker at the crate. Thank every possible god it was tall enough to keep her from view. She stayed crouched, her bent legs beginning to ache. Her backpack was still in the SUV, otherwise she’d have thrown it out. Good sized pack, so she carried some extra things. Any of those items could change this game right now.

“Come on, Waverly, you’re making me mad.”

No mental retort. She stretched her leg uncomfortably forward, leaned into it, brought the other forward. Again, again, again. Rounding the crate as Tucker did, searching for any trace of her. They danced the whole square before he huffed and moved to the extra seating section, a step under the rest of the restaurant.

Lots of glass there. But his neck was exposed. She had a knife. Damn, she hated this. Creeper or not, was she really considering killing him? _Killing_ him? Forever? Wouldn’t be her first kill, but still a chilling feeling. She _knew_ this guy. They lived in the same town together. She didn’t eat animals or products from animals but here she was, and here she’d been, ready to kill. Adding another name to a list already much too long. Because her life was more important? Because she was smarter, stronger? Had more motivation? What the hell was happening to humanity?

She eyed the door. The glimmering gates of Heaven. To Sanctuary, to Mama. Answers about her blood. A happy life for Wynonna. A happy life with Nicole.

A happy life with Nicole.

She left the crate, with the same cautious determination as a toddler taking its first steps. She stayed low. Breaths low, echoing, choking on a speeding pulse, clutching a blade, shaking it about. Eyes narrowed for a goal. Legs climbed a silent climb.

Broken plates next to her. She stayed ducked under a raised booth’s seatback. Carefully gripped a piece and tossed it further into the seating section below. Listened to Tucker’s warning.

She fought the urge to break into a full sprint. She raised slightly higher, allowing more room for her legs to march on faster. Victory on her tongue, she pushed the finely-finished wood door. No luck.

No luck.

No fucking luck!

“WAVERLY!”

She jumped to full height. Bashed her shoulders against the door so hard she swore she broke something. No matter. A cause for later.

Footsteps rushing over. Plates and glass shrinking to small pieces. She ran for it. Damn door wasn’t budging—Tucker blocked it from the outside. _Back door—show yourself!_ she begged, mentally. Footsteps rushing faster, echoing harder than breaths, choking her worse than her own heart, sharper than this blade. She pushed on, a terror-induced gasp falling from her lips.

No luck.

-

“There! Nicole, go, that’s Waverly!”

Two steps before gunfire prevented any more from landing on an old street just before an old parking lot with even older, faded paint. The pair turned around, to find Jonas, gear and all, shotgun in hand, aiming for their feet. Briefly, across the way, Tucker Gardner spun around, a fighting-like-hell Waverly Earp thrown over his shoulder like cargo. Nicole got a flashback to Olive, the Tatenhills. She wasn’t sure which time the stakes were higher.

“I knew you’d be trouble!” Jonas declared, voice something close to a shout.

“You’re letting that prick get away,” Wynonna growled. “That’s my fucking sister he’s got!”

“I can’t let you kill him. If you kill him, I lose everything I have worked for! They’ll _never_ trust me again!”

“Not our fault you’re a shitty leader who condones kidnapping,” Nicole spat.

“Time to back off, Anus,” Wynonna said. Jonas gave a confused look. “It’s—‘cause—asshole! You’re an asshole! And if you keep standing in our way you’ll have bigger problems than being a terrible leader.”

“I don’t want to shoot you, Wynonna. But I’m not losing this group, either. I can’t lose another group. Do you know how hard it is to go at it alone?”

Wynonna scoffed, remembering how fast he flew the coop long ago. “I have some idea, shit brick.” Peacemaker flew from its holster, Nicole’s rifle mirroring. “Spare me the man pain.”

-

“Oh my god, you’re counting cards, aren’t you?”

Rosita briefly glanced up from her own, noteworthy hand, finding a guilty Jeremy and an enraged Eliza. This half of the team finished their rounds, but Doc and Dolls wanted another look-over, just in case. So Eliza, Rosita, and Jeremy pulled a quick game of poker. Still early in Eliza’s career, but not her first time playing, so Rosita thought she knew about Jeremy’s undying shenanigans—currently his guilt was false—and didn’t think to warn her.

“What?” Jeremy tried for the millionth time this trip. “I don’t know how to do that.” He wasn’t even _trying_ to sound convincing.

Didn’t matter, because Rosita took the round anyway. Eliza laughed, because Jeremy went all in.

“And I didn’t need fancy cheating,” Rosita remarked.

Jeremy’s witty response didn’t leave his tongue, because he noticed some Runners close by, walking among the roadside trees ahead. The girls followed his sights.

“Should we take it out?” he asked them.

Rosita’s rifle was raised, but the way she gripped it showed no intention of shooting now, fingers nowhere near the trigger. Just as she readied the declaration she _was_ going to take this one Runner out, she spotted several more. All walking about, lost but not looking to find anything particular.

She instructed, “Truck—get in the truck.”

Jeremy scooped up their cards and chips, Eliza grabbed his rifle for him, and together the three piled in. An extra precaution, in case they were somehow spotted. No telling how many more were in this herd. Hopefully Doc and Dolls noticed them, too, and wouldn’t be caught. And hopefully Nicole and Wynonna were already on their way back, Waverly safely intact.

-

Fingers on triggers. Feet mounted to the dying paint littered across the pavement. Eyes rooted onto one another. Time slowing to a crawl. Wynonna inhaled, curling her pointer finger along the trigger.

Then retracted.

Jonas was falling to his knees, familiar red locks appearing from behind him and revealing the rest of its person as the man fell. Wynonna froze a moment to take in this sudden information, while in the moment her partner, seconds ahead of her, rushed over and buried a machete into Jonas’s heart. Assuming he had one in the first place. He collapsed, dead at Nicole Haught’s hands, Wynonna feeling some sort of freedom washing over her. True, Jonas hadn’t bothered her in years, not since bigger things arrived and took up more headspace. But watching someone who’d treated her horribly, abandoned her so fast, face the justice she felt he deserved? Liberating. And at the hands of someone she was truly growing to trust and cherish.

“Smart,” Mercedes Gardner, panting wildly, remarked. “Guns would be loud.”

Wynonna felt dumb for not even considering it, Infected prowling nearby. As they always were. Currently, the only thing on her mind was her sister. If Infected were to show up, she’d plow through them with the force of an army.

“Thanks,” Nicole replied almost blankly, inspecting Jonas’s body. The last of the life in him drained, quickly. She didn’t know why she looked.

“Guess you’ll get to take charge now,” Wynonna said, tucking Peacemaker away. “Make a change. Fun stuff. I believe in you.”

“Come on,” Mercedes almost laughed, “you know I’d make a terrible leader. I have the ideas, not the charisma. Or the patience.”

“I guess you should find someone trustworthy, then.”

Mercedes nodded, appreciative. “There’s a barn down the road Tucker likes to go, when he needs to throw a tantrum. He doesn’t usually go there but when he does he stays for days, sometimes weeks, to freak us out. I’d try there. I can show you, if you want.”

“That’s alright. We can take it from here. Just in case things get bad. Well, badder.”

Just in case they’d have to shoot Tucker. Something Mercedes probably shouldn’t see, no matter much she might’ve hated him. Again Mercedes gave a nod, one of understanding.

“We’ll try our best to keep him alive,” Nicole promised.

To herself, Wynonna made a point she had absolutely no intentions of sparing Tucker. After all, he was messing with Waverly Earp. But, cop or not, admirable of Nicole.

“Beth won’t be too happy about this,” Mercedes mumbled.

Wynonna assured, “She’ll be alright.”

“Things are different now. I guess the problem child should get their shit together or get out, right?”

Both Wynonna and Nicole agreed, minds recalling Willa and Victoria. Wishing they’d learned their lessons a little more fairly, perhaps.

-

The second Doc fell into a crouch Dolls followed. Crouching had one, universal meaning: hiding from something. From Jonas’s information earlier, that something would be local Infected, patrolling about like they owned the place. For once, despite yet another wave of doubt for Doc as a person, Dolls followed. No denying the man had a sharp eye, one that’d saved Dolls’s life time and time again. Annoying, when he was upset with him. Useful, otherwise.

Dolls didn’t notice their teammates huddled in the truck until Doc led them over, low, slow, and quiet. The boys entered the front seats, two subgroups briefed each other on their finds. All around, no sign of Waverly or Tucker, or anything the slightest bit suspicious. Rosita remarked she didn’t like how close the Infected were getting. Dolls agreed, everyone feeling the same bad feeling as he turned the engine key. New plan: catch up to Wynonna and Nicole, get Waverly, get out of here.

-

Mere minutes before their team would head off, Nicole and Wynonna approached an old barn. Nicole on silent, trained feet, Wynonna on convincing imitations.

The barn was small, about the size of the one back on the the Earp land. For a second Wynonna believed they were in Purgatory. They _were_ back in Canada, and Purgatory was close. If she’d stayed home in the first place a hike to Sanctuary wouldn’t be such a big deal. After all this time, almost eight years since the Outbreak, would Mama be expecting them? She probably thought them dead. After all this time, it was almost a miracle they weren’t. Maybe jinxing it wasn’t best.

Nicole stopped, so Wynonna stopped. Only time she was thankful to have a cop around. Their shoulders touched the barn walls. Gazes found what appeared to be bullet holes poking all over. Ears picked up on something—an argument? Waverly’s voice, unmistakable. Tucker’s, too, but no visual confirmation. Something Nicole needed to formulate a plan.

“Where are you, you little skid mark?” Wynonna whispered.

Nicole pointed suddenly, her finger already on her firearm’s side. Never touching the trigger until she was sure she was going to shoot. Wynonna respected that. Even began to adopt that practice.

“I’m going in,” Nicole said. “Head around the back and cover me. I don’t know if he has backup. Shoot if he makes any sudden moves.”

Nicole’s intention was to talk him down. Either to save a bullet or keep risk of Infected popping up down. Or to be human and spare another human’s life. Bad thing this didn’t cross Wynonna’s mind first. She wanted to be the one to burst in, shoot Tucker Gardner down for good, rich boy pervert who never got punished for doing whatever he wanted to whoever he wanted. If he got what he wanted with Waverly, he’d be begging for death when she was finished with him.

Nicole gave Wynonna a wide enough window to get into position before kicking those barn doors open. Used bullet shells littered about the inside, some knives. Some extra clothes. Personal items. Hay stacks moved to make a bed.

Tucker Gardner, the criminal. Waverly Earp, the hostage with Nicole’s official service weapon to her head, a criminal’s arm restraining her by the throat. Some bruising on her face, a hand clutching her side. If she wasn’t so lost to terror she’d give Nicole a better _It’s you! I missed you!_ face.

“Hands up! Put the gun down!” The way Nicole’s fingers fidgeted with her borrowed, bad luck pistol betrayed her demand. Clearly, the way Tucker didn’t flinch. Nicole retried, “Come on, before someone gets hurt.”

Waverly’s free hand, the one not clutching her side, attempted to break free. No luck. No damn luck all day. Without effort Tucker restrained her, pulling his arm tighter around her throat and pressing a pistol to her head. Her shotgun was against the barn wall. She huffed in the fury of feeling so helpless. Yet again.

“Everyone keeps talking to me like I’m an idiot,” Tucker said. “Those hags,” in response to his sisters, “this one here, you.” Waverly struggled again, to no avail. “I’m not an idiot. I know what I’m doing. I know what I want.”

Waverly’s hand, the one clutching her side, fell. She stared into Nicole’s eyes, this time not with woe but with an unspoken plan. Nicole saw the blade hidden underneath her sleeve. She looked back into Waverly’s, nodding small.

“Too bad you’re not gonna get it,” she promised.

Tucker readjusted his arm, so sudden Waverly almost lost the knife. What, was he tired? Nicole shook her head, as unnoticeable as possible. Change of plans.

“Did you come here to kill me?” he asked, almost innocent. “For her?”

“I came to get Waverly. Whether or not you die is up to you.”

“She’s not going anywhere.”

“She’s not property.”

“She’s not going with you.” Waverly struggled again. Put down again, same minimal effort. Again she breathed her frustration. “You’re mistaken. What you want is disgusting. It’s wrong.”

Nicole scoffed. “You’re the disgusting one here. She never gave you the light of day, so you kidnap her?”

“I’m reminding her what’s right. She’s been through a lot, so it’s okay if she’s confused.”

“You’re sick,” Waverly spat. Tucker’s gun, a classic, villainy slow-for-show movement, turned on Nicole. So Waverly struggled, harder. No luck.

“You’ll thank me one day,” he promised.

Gunshot. Nicole blinked. Waverly shrieked, like it’d been the first time ever hearing a gun discharge. She ripped herself, fully, from Tucker’s grip and into Nicole’s. Nicole watched as Tucker fell, dead, no longer a threat, red hole in his head and red pools collecting beneath him, Peacemaker’s mighty barrel sticking in from a hole in the wall.

It pulled out, Wynonna rushed around and inside. Waverly took a moment, lost in Nicole’s arms, greedily sapping the feeling of safety, inhaling vanilla, touching, feeling. Until Nicole broke them to look her over.

“Are you okay?” She tried not to panic. “Why are you holding your side?”

“He had my shotgun,” Waverly explained. “I was running from him. He grabbed me, so I tried to stab him a second time and ran. I think he was trying to shoot near me to scare me but I was grazed. I tried to fight again but he punched me.” She indicated a bruise over her eye. “Hard.”

“Fucking prick,” Wynonna said, rushing in from the doorway.

The Earp sisters reunited with a chilling embrace, in similar fashion to when this all started. Opposite now: Wynonna was the one leading a search with Nicole Haught, accusing a camp of people, and this time Waverly was the one injured.

Then Waverly was off, for her shotgun and for the exit, forever. Nicole happily retrieved her own pistol from Tucker’s corpse. Walking by herself, Waverly felt a dizziness. She clung to a haystack for support, Wynonna beating Nicole to her aid.

“Did you treat the wound?” Nicole asked.

“I was just getting a look at it when you two arrived.” Waverly returned a hand over the wound. “Not that Tucker let me. He insisted on doing it himself.”

Wynonna scoffed, “What a fucking gentleman. Come on, let’s get you up here and take a l—”

Screams. Roars. Battle cries. Multiple, close.

Nicole shut the barn doors. Wynonna moved to the bullet holes, makeshift windows, to look. Infected. Lots. Heading over. She swore. She’d fired Peacemaker—noise!

“What do you want to do?” Nicole asked, to no one in particular. Any answer was good. Any that weren’t _Fuck it, let’s go get bitten._ Only bad one, she was convinced.

Wynona proposed, “Take Waverly and go back to that restaurant.”

Two bad ones. Neither Nicole nor Waverly were on board.

“You’re coming with us,” Waverly rightfully demanded. “No heroics, remember?”

Wynonna was still looking out the “windows”. “The second you’re hurt all rules are out.”

“I only got a little bit shot,” she mumbled.

“You’re untreated,” Wynonna heard and disapproved, “you’re dizzy, you’re leaving.” Finally, she turned around, looking to Nicole. “Take her, Haught. Go.”

“I’m not leaving without you, Earp.” Nicole’s voice was too quiet for her liking. She’d already lost one sister this week. Fuck all if she was losing another, one she just got.

“She needs to survive—”

Waverly protested, “Bullsh—”

“—so take her and get moving. I’ll be right behind you. I’ll be fine.” Her eyes were pleading in a way that’d put a puppy dog to shame. “Please.”

“Fuck,” Nicole surrendered. She marched to Waverly’s un-grabbed long gun, slung it over her shoulder, and picked up its owner, bridal-style. Practiced, at this point.

Waverly protested, “Wh—Nicole! Wynonna! Hey!”

Nicole kicked the barn doors open, Wynonna trailing, as promised. “You stay alive!” she asked of her. Wynonna nodded.

Waverly called to her sister. Nicole apologized, unyielding. Waverly only stared in terror, from over Nicole’s shoulder. She had a right mind to shout and fight, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Her allies were set on this. Too late now. She’d only ruin the plan, let Infected close in, so instead she buried her face in Nicole’s shoulder, praying everything would turn up. Nicole apologized, again and again.

Behind, Wynonna was shouting, stomping, making noise. Tried to whistle, until she remembered she couldn’t whistle. Too many were swarming for her sister, still, so she pulled her weapon, blasted it into the sky.

“CRAZY CHICK WITH A GUN!”

As she wished, some abandoned the crusade of Nicole and Waverly. Some lingered, too stubborn to lose prey, but not enough to overwhelm them.

Waverly was focused now, Nicole’s returned pistol in hand and blasting. Nicole focused on the path ahead, dodging desperate, close Runners who lunged at them. Waverly found no ease in keeping up with them. Shooting a handgun felt foreign after all this time, shotgun-only. She cursed herself.

Then she was cursing for real, gravity ripping her from Nicole’s safe arms and crashing her onto the ground. She rolled harshly, fighting the urge to roll over and scream her pain away, into a grassy ditch the side of the road. She searched for Nicole, firing off every possible, limited bullet into the skulls of Runners. She rolled to her stomach, searching and pushing herself up simultaneously.

Again, she found it difficult not to scream. Too pressed for time to let it out.

Nicole on the pavement, scrambling to return to her feet. Infected pulling her down, flailing arms, trying to spread their pain though bites.

Waverly grunted, pushing herself upward, her mind throwing the nastiest of tantrums. She watched Nicole kick the asshole who tripped her in the first place. Borrowed, bad luck pistol dropped elsewhere. No window big enough to get a long gun from her shoulder and into on of those assholes’ faces. Vision blurring, Waverly aided the only way possible: shooting anything that moved.

Why was she stopping? Staring?

Listening to a cry from Nicole?

Watching as a Runner snuck in from literal nowhere—perhaps a magic portal—and sink their teeth into Nicole’s flesh?

The pain, this new promise of death, fueled Nicole’s second wind. She slammed her free fist into the one who changed her fate. Kicked the one at her feet. The first inbound, she rolled over and punched her killer twice. One for a window of escape, one for stealing her future.

Stealing her future.

Waverly fell back into reality, let off an irresponsible lot of bullets, until Nicole swept her off her feet and she found nothing left in the chamber.

“Nicole—”

“Shh, it’s okay, baby. We’ll be okay.”

Without breaking her pace she swapped the empty service weapon for the extra, kissed Waverly’s cheek, ignored Waverly’s horror. Forget everything else in the past eight years. _This_ was it. The real, _oh shit_ scenario.

“Nicole, your arm,” Waverly gasped, a sob ripping through her.

“It’s gonna be okay, Waverly.”

Waverly felt like she couldn’t breathe. She felt cheated, stolen from, pathetic, small. How’d she let this happen?

She was numb. Couldn’t hear. Breathe. Feel. See anything that wasn’t the blood gushing from Nicole’s arm. She grabbed it to try to slow the flow. Her hands shook. Felt broken, because they’d forgotten how to grip.

She didn’t notice the SUV, Dolls slamming on the brakes. Rifles sticking out the middle row windows, owners seated behind. Doc’s pistols and Doc’s upper half peering from the sunroof. His warning for them to move aside. Here Dolls ran over the Runners behind them as he crashed to a stop. She didn’t realize she’d left Nicole’s arms for a seat. Didn’t feel the sting of antiseptic, quickly applied, wound cleaned and bandaged. She stared as Nicole tied a bandage over her own arm, seeing no cause in cleaning or caring for it.

Because soon it wouldn’t matter.

-

Same technique for Wynonna: plowing the SUV through the herd, letting her slip into the middle row, taking off before she could close the door. Dolls kept the truck in reverse, waiting a safe distance to swerve into a U-turn and drive proper. Wynonna held her sister, in the middle seat, close. She expected some big argument, not a quiet Waverly. She didn’t question it, not after she’d been taken. She figured this was why her sister was so silent. Incorrect. No one noticed Nicole’s arm, only focused on watching the herd grow smaller and smaller behind them. They pulled into the truck stop to bark some warning. The people were clearly infuriated. All but Mercedes, who thanked them. Wynonna thanked _her_ with a nod. Even afterwards no one saw. Like it could be their little secret.

No one noticed until they’d made camp, a safe distance away. Turning in much too early without a care. Plenty of time to spare now.

For some.

Laughter ensued. Small talk. Team happy they made it out of yet another disaster. Doc made a fire, everyone gathered. Not Nicole. Nicole stood before it, capturing everyone’s attention. And then she showed it to them. Dolls, by military instinct, reached for his gun. If someone in the zone was infected, that was it for them. For the greater good. Some Fireflies were at a crossroads on the subject, never deciding whether turning or not was fair. Dolls’s “opinion” was engraved to kill in his very bones. Wynonna swatted his hand from his holster, hissed a warning to knock it off. Nicole noticed. She retrieved her loaded, back up pistol from Waverly earlier, and pulled it. She shook all over. Waverly made her way over and lowered the thing, but Nicole wouldn’t let her take it.

“Please,” she begged, out of the norm, “I can’t turn into one of those things.”

Waverly fully agreed. Still, “You can’t just blow your brains out.”

“I have to.”

Silence, complete aside from the crackling fire. Doc’s cigarette shrunk as it burned itself on his lips. He was too shocked for Nicole to smoke it. Eliza stared at the ground. Rosita nervously stroked her rifle’s stock. Dolls and Wynonna were calculating something. Jeremy searched in his oldest friend for the solution. Because Dolls was in charge, right? He always had the next move planned, even when he didn’t.

“What should we do?” he asked, finally growing impatient. He aimed for a whisper but forgot in the moment how to control it. Other things to worry about.

Both the Earps looked to Dolls. He shook his head, stroked his trimmed beard.

“There’s nothing _to_ do.” Waverly couldn’t believe it; Nicole never sounded so defeated, never seemed the defeated type. Nicole tossed her backpack forward. She wasn’t sure why she was wearing it in the first place. Her rifle followed. “You can take what you need.” A teary smile, infectious. “Guys, these last few months—“

“It’s been half an hour,” Wynonna stopped. “You have a lot of time. One last drink, Haught?”

Dolls didn’t like it. Nicole didn’t like it. Eliza was cautious. Rosita didn’t know what to feel.

“You cannot go without a proper send-off, Miss Haught,” Doc added, whiskey already in his hand. As if making it suddenly appear was a super power he and Wynonna shared.

“You do still have a lot of time,” Jeremy joined. Nicole wasn’t convinced.

So Waverly took her hand, pleaded with words, looks, touches. And Nicole agreed, took a place by the fire. Wynonna silently thanked Dolls for going against his every instinct, every minute of training. He thanked her for not being mad. He couldn’t believe he actually plotted to shoot Nicole down, like some enemy, because she was infected. He’d left the military and its cold tactics. Time to start acting like it.

There was a silence at first. Fear in the air. Disbelief one of them was gone, so quickly. So easily. They were supposed to be survivors, not the many they’d torn down to get here.

Wynonna broke the ice, cheered everyone up as she always seemed to with her undying wit. Dolls tried to play it up, but failed. Eliza recalled a time Dolls’s sense of humor was strong, and Wynonna’s reaction surpassed words. Doc told a story about a highly illegal gambling stunt he pulled, to tease the law in Nicole. Jeremy tried to tell his own, impressive story, but no one could understand his nerdy references. Or what made it so impressive, in response. Rosita did, but she didn’t laugh. Instead, to cool the mood, she told a story about the time her brother’s best man pulled a harsh prank for his bachelor party. One in which he staged a kidnapping. Her brother, even with his great sense of humor, was not amused.

Then the mood switched. Nicole wanted to stay for an hour, but she found the longer she stayed the harder it was to go. Forever. Jeremy started one last go-around: favorite moment with Nicole. How she didn’t burst into tears she found odd.

Jeremy remembered a time back when the team first got together, when they passed through a spores section. Dolls already tried to teach him to stealth kill but they could never find footing here. So typically Jeremy sat those types of things out. Nicole wanted him to learn how to protect himself. She showed him, because it was just them where they’d been cut off, what to do by taking down two. Both slowly. When there was one last one in the room she walked him through it nonverbally. He managed to do it on his own, no problems. They did more and more practice kills at camp that night, with Nicole as a target, warning _dead!_ if he made noise. She had Waverly jump in to have multiple targets to practice. Dolls only showed him how to kill, not to sneak, what to do if something went wrong, and certainly not give a realistic course for it. So he thanked her, because this simple lesson saved his life multiple times, and really boosted his confidence. Then apologized to Dolls, for basically calling him out on incomplete lessons. But Dolls took no offense. Too focused on the universe reminding him he wasn’t invincible. And he was losing a friend.

Dolls went next. There were a million things he wanted to say. She’d kept Jeremy company. Had his back about Doc when the man first arrived. Helped keep Wynonna’s worries down by looking after Waverly. Killed the Tatenhills and saved his and Eliza’s lives and ensured no one else would ever be locked in that basement. Proved to be a trustworthy friend with a great heart. Proof someone could be law and still turn out okay, when times he felt like a mindless drone. Especially the way he pulled his gun without thinking. For some reason he could only think of her height; how she helped get everyone up and over tall spaces, before Doc showed up and took over. He remarked he’d be exhausted, getting everyone over alone, maybe pick up some shoulder problems. He felt stupid. _You’re tall, so I wasn’t tired._ He shook his head to retry. But Nicole thanked him. Said she was glad to have his help, too. He smiled; she understood he sucked at the emotion game, that he had better things to say. That he’d always want a do-over, on the sentence, on this day, on this stop he decided to make.

Doc expressed his gratitude next. One of the many times they’d been on the run, his hat fell from his head. No time to stop. He was already in mourning by the time they’d found refuge, only to burst into a beaming smile. Nicole managed to grab it, keep it safe, keep his head warm forever afterwards. Keep his head from looking weird or “naked”. He hoped hers was resting peacefully. Nicole cursed the Tatenhills jokingly.

Here, on the subject of the awful family, Eliza contributed. She acknowledged they hadn’t been acquainted long, but thanked her for ridding the world of those people. She wished she could’ve seen it, or fought by her side. She remarked Nicole must’ve been fierce, fearless, tough. Everything those cowards weren’t.

Rosita regarded “the best assist in history”. More specifically, when Rosita was first learning to play poker, and Nicole helped her win. Jeremy, cheating as usual and denying it, like counting cards was in his blood. Her third game, fifth for the day given their small chips collection, Jeremy’s potential fifth consecutive win, they grew sick of his remarks about going easy on Rosita because she was new, on Nicole because she was “nice”. Jeremy Chetri: poker player—terrible guy. Totally different guy. Possessed by a demon of poker, Nicole was convinced. By this point in their games Waverly turned to books, laughing at their frustration and determination. She thought it was cute. Silently, Nicole was formulating a plan to get one of them to beat Jeremy. Any one. Any way. So she started to describe one of her fellow officers in the force. Decent looking guy. Great with the ladies. In great shape. Former model. Rosita caught on. She was already on Jeremy’s tail, so Nicole was set on tipping her to the finish line. Jeremy was so distracted it worked. Multiple times. Even now, as Rosita retold the tale.

Wynonna didn’t have some story. Didn’t need one. Wasn’t convinced she could _tell_ one. She revealed, simply, “Standing up to your sister.” They drank to that.

Less able to talk, Waverly Earp. She sat leaned against Nicole, hands intertwined, head to her girlfriend’s neck, staring to the ground as shadows danced. Gone, like she hadn’t been listening. If she didn’t hear the goodbyes, it wouldn’t really be happening. And she wouldn’t have to say goodbye, too. Because this, this was all some sick dream or nightmare she’d wake from, in Nicole Haught’s healthy arms, with Nicole Haught calming her and easing her back to sleep. But the way Nicole was kissing her head reminded her yes, this was real. And yes, it was the end of the world.

She couldn’t think of a single memory. They all jumbled together. They were all great, even the bad ones, the sad ones where she feared this exact thing happened. She could only mutter, “Every single one.”

-

Nicole was more specific about her belongings this time around. To Doc her favorite lighter, formerly Michael’s. Wynonna her unused flask, also Michael’s. Dolls her police-issue pistol and holster, and so on. Most items went to Waverly.

She left for the woods a mile ahead with not a “goodbye” but a “good luck”, one of the extra pistols, and its last bullet in hand. Somehow she wasn’t expecting Waverly to follow. The last thing she wanted was to send Waverly away, but the girl was injured. She didn’t care. “I’ll have plenty of time to rest,” she insisted. Nicole didn’t have it in her to refuse. Because she didn’t want to let go. Not again.

They were silent as the sun set on this horrid day, enjoying each other’s silence. Each other’s presence. Only at the start of a thick crop of trees did they stop, speak. Reluctantly. Find goodbyes.

Nicole passed on the rest of her things. The things she thought she might keep, but decided against, right here. Her old cell phone, probably, somehow still kicking. Her looted machete, kept in case the bullet didn’t do the job. She’d make it work. Initially she only wanted the knife to do the job, but Wynonna insisted. Said Nicole deserved to go quickly, painlessly.

Waverly reached but her hand froze, unable to take it. Because it’d seal Nicole’s fate, giving up the last of her things. Because it was a too-real reminder Nicole’s story ended, here. With a gunshot. No funeral, no service. No single ounce of justice. Nothing she truly deserved. Nicole eased the thing in her hand, a reassuring look in her eyes. _It’ll be okay._ No it wouldn’t. Waverly leaned in for a final, parting kiss. Her heart broke when Nicole refused.

“I’m sorry,” Nicole noticed. “What if it spreads? To you?”

Waverly didn’t give a damn. “Then we can be all poetic and just lose our minds together.”

She gave a small smile, fighting a frown and a whole dam of tears. Nicole leaned in, and Waverly met her halfway. For the last time, their two hearts, souls, became one. Only they existed in the vast universe, a spotlight in a dark world. The last remnants of a broken world.

“This isn’t fair,” Waverly said. “This isn’t _right._ ”

“I know—”

“We haven’t even had our first real fight yet! And work through it, and—and—Disagree on foods!" A small laugh fell from her lips. “I’d make you try a veggie burger and you’ll pretend you love it because I love it but you’ll sneak a real burger when I’m not looking!”

Nicole gasped a laugh.

“We’re supposed to make it through, together. Have our second date in a coffee shop, and talk about whatever.” The tears welled up more in Waverly’s eyes. “We were supposed to get coffee, Nicole.” Her voice sounded dry, broken. Nicole pulled her in close. “We were supposed to get coffee,” she whispered into her chest.

“I’m sorry,” Nicole whispered, unable to get her voice any higher. “I wasn’t supposed to do this.” Waverly looked up. “I wasn’t supposed to fucking die, or break your heart. I was supposed to be better, _way_ better, and I—”

“You are better. You will always be better, than anything.” She sighed. “I love you, Nicole Haught.”

Her eyes closed, forehead to her love’s. Voice breathy, hands shaking in the fear of a life without Nicole and in the anger this happened.

“I love you, Waverly Earp.” Nicole’s eyes opened, internalizing Waverly’s Earp’s features until the last breath. “I was in a really shitty place when you found me. And now I think I’m the happiest I’ll ever be.” She bowed her head. “Too bad I suck at the survival game.”

The second they broke they were together again, unbreakable magnets. Waverly’s arms holding tight and unwilling to let go.

“This all has to be a stupid dream, right?” she asked, not bothering to look up now. “I’ll wake up and Tucker’ll still be there and you’ll burst in cop-like and we’ll be okay, right?”

Nicole snorted. “You wouldn’t want the zombies thing as a whole to be a dream?”

“There’s no way I could’ve dreamt you up. You’re beyond a dream.”

“That credit’s yours, Waverly Earp.” Nicole broke their hug. Waverly wasn’t sure her heart could sink lower as she connected hazel-green and honey in a rightful stare. “You make it to that too-perfect place, alright? And when everything’s okay again and you’re the world’s leading historian, kicking ass, don’t you forget about me. Well, forget this part. This part sucks.”

A laugh escaped Waverly’s lips, almost surprising her. Nicole smiled at the sight.

“Don’t forget the good times. And you survive, Waverly Earp.” She kissed Waverly again, longer and slower than humanly possible. “I love you.”

Waverly’s hand found Nicole’s cheek. “It would take a lot to forget you, Nicole Haught.” _I can’t do this without you,_ she wanted to add, but the words just couldn’t form.

Suddenly Nicole’s hand flew into her pocket, and somehow the terror in her eyes grew. She revealed the ring from Michael, its history, how one day she’d hoped it’d find home on Waverly’s fingers. Nicole clarified, “A real marriage, not what I had before.” One with love and understanding, no fantasizing to help it work. Just when she feared she overstepped some line, Waverly slipped it on, searching Nicole’s eyes for protests. None found.

“I would’ve said yes,” she said. The first tear fell from Nicole’s eyes. Waverly wiped it away, pressed their foreheads together, breathed in the last of Nicole Haught.

Nicole sighed, doing the same. “Stay safe, cowgirl.”

One last kiss, and Nicole was off. For good. Waverly Earp stood, still, frozen but for tears, a broken dam, staring for the last time as Nicole Haught disappeared into a mess of trees. She didn’t dare look back, and Waverly didn’t blame her. When she turned, for the uncertain future, she couldn’t look back either.

It was too painful.

-

Then Wynonna Earp’s warm arms were around her next, the sole survivor of their family here to ground her. Sure, Mama was out there, but for some reason the thought of her made Waverly almost . . . angry? Was she blaming Mama for this trip? Nicole? Every life she’d taken with each mile passed? She spared animals with every possible effort, but destroyed any of her own kind pointing the smallest of weapons at her. And feel no regret.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl.” Wynonna broke her from her thoughts. For the best, maybe. “You okay?”

Wynonna knew the answer, a solid _no_ , but in these types of situations people asked. So she asked. And cursed herself for being so awful at this sort of thing. Liquor was always her solution. It was all she knew.

“I’m fine.” Even Waverly herself wasn’t buying that. “I’m gonna head off to bed, okay?”

Wynonna nodded, no longer in a protective embrace but holding her sister’s shoulders, steady. “I’ll be here.”

A small smile, “I know.”

She let her sister walk off, looking after to make sure nothing popped out of the ground or fell from the sky. Expect everything, she learned. And when she forgot, a rude reminder appeared and took her friend. Someone she’d maybe see as a sister, too, someday. Someone she maybe saw as a sister, now. Nicole was everything Champ wasn’t, she told Doc, at the campfire. Nicole cared, supported, stayed. No matter what. Excluding now, because now was out of her hands. Cruel, the fates.

No fancy talk from John Henry. Man was so tired he could barely sit upright. He tried, bless him, but his usual wisdom came out wrong. Something about eating silver sandwiches? She sent him off for the night, but the farthest he got was rolling over and falling into a deep sleep right there, on the cold, snow-sprinkled grass. _Nature’s dandruff,_ Wynonna liked to call it.

Dolls must’ve noticed, because he arrived, Doc’s backpack in hand, all sleeping gear inside: a single blanket. Wynonna feared they’d be treating him for hypothermia next. Dolls tried waking him, but no luck. Odd, seeing as he wasn’t even drunk yet. Dolls lent him his sleeping bag, had some help rolling the man into it. Frustration with Doc gone. There were more important things to invest his time and feelings into, he realized.

Dolls and Wynonna hung back a bit, shared a drink and a mutually comfortable silence, watched the lively fire before them. How it sparkled in Doc’s now set-aside Colt Thunderer, out of its holster for quick, emergency use. A trick Dolls learned the hard way, and suggested constantly. He noted how Wynonna stared into it, like it was putting on a whole show and she was watching eagerly to see what was going to happen next. He said nothing, but she could feel his eyes on her, whatever unspoken question or thing he had to say on his lips.

“It’s all my fault,” she said. She sat up, left the shimmering weapon for Dolls’s shimmering eyes. The same but somehow different fires in both. “Nicole’s a goner and it’s my fault.”

“It was you?” he asked. Was that _sarcasm_ in his voice? “ _You_ started the Cordyceps virus?”

Wynonna smacked his arm. “No, dumb-dumb. But if I did I’d have a lot of explaining to do, wouldn’t I?”

“A whole lot,” he agreed, a small smile to his lips as he finished off his beer.

“I shouldn’t have shot Tucker when I did. I mean, it’s Tucker, so I _should’ve_ , but I wish I didn’t. I should’ve let Nicole do her cop thing.” She shook her head, drank her beer. “Another death on my watch.”

“That’s not on you, Wynonna.”

“Yeah, it kind of is.”

Dolls set his beer down and insisted, “That is not on you.”

“Dolls, there were a million different ways I could’ve handled it. Like everything in my dumb life. If I waited, Nicole would’ve handled it. She would’ve talked that asshole down. She might’ve even taken him down. Like, with a punch to the nose or something. I was ready to shoot Jonas back there, but she was smart and used her machete.” She moved to drink more, but found nothing inside and huffed. “Jesus, I really fucked this up. I fucked up Waverly’s life, again.”

“If you two stayed with Bobo, you would’ve died in that dumb civil war of theirs. Lou still would’ve taken over, and still would’ve overpowered Bobo.”

“But Bobo got away. So we would’ve gotten away.”

“If you two were there, he probably would’ve stayed, to try and keep the place occupied as his. For you three. The only reason Bobo survived was so he could chase after us. The only reason he left was to chase us and get you back; there was no reason for him to stay.”

Wynonna scoffed. “Jeez, you two long-time friends?”

Dolls shrugged. “Maybe. Look, what you’re doing now, going to your mother?  _That’s_ better for Waverly. She’ll be safe there. She’ll have her mother. She won’t have to sleep expecting monsters in the morning. She’ll get to sleep with a pillow, not a gun.”

“Yeah, and no love of her life, either.” Her eyes left _nature’s dandruff_ for Dolls’s friendlier features. “Say, you’ve really thought my sister’s future over, Xavier. Why haven’t we been collaborating?”

Dolls only gave a small laugh, and Wynonna joined in his ease with a smile of her own. Slowly, over time, it died off. Then she re-opened their talk.

“At least we’re close to the Fireflies’s place, right? You guys can rejoin and find the cure, so this shit never happens to anyone else ever again.”

Dolls nodded, almost looking sad at the thought. Wynonna tried not to feel the same disappointment, the knowledge they weren’t sticking together. Soon it’d be just her and Waverly again.

“I mean,” she went on, “it probably won’t make a difference, but at least it’ll exist, right? And just _maybe_ the military will trust you guys enough to help distribute it.”

“I’m not convinced they’ll help us. Our military’s kind of stubborn.”

“From my experience, they’re bearable once you get to know them.” Another smile from Dolls, another in return from Wynonna. “I am impressed with you, though.”

Dolls looked at her. “Why’s that?”

“You didn’t shoot Nicole. For a minute I thought you might.”

Dolls couldn’t lie. “For a minute I thought I might, too.”

“I’d say you’ve come far enough to pass as human. Congrats, RoboCop, you’re a real boy!”

Dolls took off his baseball hat, the one Wynonna retrieved for him in the mall just two days before, and tossed it to their feet. “Happy graduation to me.”

“Aw, on my graduation day I got so high everyone looked like lizard people.”

He snorted. “Lizard people? Must’ve been weird.”

“It was fine. An improvement, for some.” She eyed him, wickedly. “You, my friend, would make an excellent, fire-breathing lizard-person.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I _know_ so.”

Dolls shook his head. Wynonna reached for another drink from her bottle, only to once again find it empty and once again huff in disappointment.

“I don’t know how I feel about the Fireflies anymore,” Dolls admitted.

She looked to him, her head swiveling from her bottle to Dolls’s features. “What?”

“I’ve never really been confident about them, but it seemed better than the military. Shooting people because you suspected they were infected was harsh. Even if it was effective.”

“Still, pretty fucked up.”

“ _Very_ fucked up. I wouldn’t go back the the military, but nothing’s ever felt right about the Fireflies.”

“Too culty?”

Dolls considered for a moment. “Too culty. It’s great they’re looking for a cure, but the way some groups waste time harassing the military with attacks at any possible opportunity seems harsh. Twelve years from now, where will we be?”

“Probably on your last legs, looking to some random smuggler to transfer humanity’s last hope, cross-country, on a really emotional journey about love.”

Dolls blinked. “That was kind of specific.”

“I’m just that good, buddy.” She leaned over, elbow on her knee. “So what’re you going to do? Start a third club? Get some whiskey and I’m in.”

“I’ll let you know,” he snorted. “Sometimes I feel like I shouldn’t have left the military. But then I remember how terrible Jeremy’s father and his men were and I change my mind. But when I think of the Fireflies something feels off. Like I know it’s not a good fit.”

She sat up again, a closer distance to her friend in crisis. “Dolls, are you happy being a soldier? Like, at all?”

“Not really,” he admitted. True, his plan before was to quit for a civilian life, then the Outbreak hit and sidelined his plans. “And with all this, with everything we’ve seen and been through these few months, with Nicole being—" He sighed. "It makes me want to find a real path in life. Not dedicate myself to others."

“Well, what do _you_ want, Dolls?”

He couldn’t possibly grasp how to answer this question. He’d never been asked before. Never heard it out loud, only to himself in his own head. Almost as if the existence of the actual question was a curse to say or a rare treasure to find. All he could do was shrug, look as lost as he felt.

Wynonna went on for him, “Well, that’s step one. You have to know you owe it to yourself to do what you want to do in life. That’s more important now than ever. It’s the apocalypse!”

“That’s the exact reason I _should_ be a soldier. It can’t be for longer, right? The world needs a soldier, not a dreamer.”

“Don’t backtrack here. You’re a real boy with real feelings, remember? Graduation day! There are plenty of other guys with the smarts to hold a gun, for military or Firefly. What’s one less soldier? You’re not some dragon-human hybrid, spitting fire and taking down culty bird dudes no problem.”

“Again, specific. What is it with you and reptiles?”

“It fits! Look, Dolls, you’re a person. Seriously, you are a person with people feelings and people dreams and people whatever-the-hell-elses. You deserve to be happy, too. If you don’t want to be a soldier, then don’t be a soldier. You don’t owe the world shit, especially not a life of servitude. Especially when, honestly, this zombie nonsense could last forever.” She reached over for Doc’s hat, somehow still resting on his out-cold head. She placed it on Dolls’s head, buzzed-down hair already growing back to a length Dolls hated. “Follow your dreams, cowboy.”

He looked her over, fixing the thing on his head to sit proper. “Have you considered being a life coach?”

“Hell no. I don’t want to convince Lonely Susan to leave her dull ass husband for literally anything else.”

Dolls grinned. “But what if she really needs to hear it?”

“Lonely Susan is a bit of a racist. She gets nothing but misery.”

-

Gun to her head. Sweating despite the cold. Pushing and pushing with effort.

Finally she gave, tossing the gun aside, sweating, rolling her eyes, calling herself a coward. She wondered: would Dolls really have shot? She couldn’t. She wanted to, but she couldn’t. Could Dolls have? He was a soldier no more. A human now. Unclear if he could or couldn’t.

Nicole picked up the gun, placed it back against her skull.

Then dropped it again.

“Damn it!”

What was so hard about blowing your own brains out? Should be simple, right? Plenty of people did it once the Outbreak hit. Others she’d met, once stuck in this exact situation. Some she’d witnessed, here. Then, on the force. Some at night, in her nightmares.

“Come on, you coward, do it.” A tear fell down her eye. “This is it. You have to.”

Still, she sat, against a sturdy old tree trunk, eyeing the damn pistol and its last bullet as if it’d been taunting her.

“It takes more courage to stay then to leave.”

She looked up, feeling a mess of a person.

“And you’re unwilling to go, so I’d say you’re no coward. Improving, too.”

Shae Pressman, as in Nicole’s head as ever, sitting on a stump before her, black dress blending with the dark atmosphere taking them over.

“And I’m impressed, which means deep down you’re impressed with yourself, too. Or else I wouldn’t be here.” She crossed her legs, one over the other. “But you know all that.” She eyed the pistol, black as night, then Nicole, shrouded in the same, empty dark. “We’ve done this dance before.”

“Last time you begged me to do it.” Nicole recalled, staring off and not at Shae. Not real, anyway.

“I see you _have_ improved, then.”

“I felt guilty about Michael, so I tried to give myself what I deserved.”

“But deep down you knew it wasn’t what you deserved.”

Nicole looked up, searching for Shae. “How come I see you and never him?”

Shae paused, thoughtfully. “Our relationship was more fantasy than reality. Old habits never die.” She shrugged. “But maybe now you’ll see him.” Indicating the gun, “Once you’re ready.”

“Of course I’m not ready. But, of course, it’s not my choice. Wait, you think I’m going to heaven?”

“That’s not a gay joke, is it?”

“I have killed a lot of people. My gun went off—Michael died. I couldn’t stop Victoria, and then I _abandoned_ her. I wanted a day alone—you died at the hospital. I don’t watch Tucker despite _all_ of my instincts—Waverly and Wynonna almost die. Not to mention all the people I’ve actually killed, and how I ditched the town I swore to protect.” She bowed her head. “Sounds sinful to me.”

“That’s remarkable.”

“What?”

“You asked me. You didn’t tell me.” She let her words set a moment. “I think you know the answer, Nicole. The difference between a crook and a saint. You didn’t kill anyone for gain, only for protection. To keep them from hurting those you love. From day one you’ve protected those you love. You led those Runners from Michael. You tried to save him. You tried to help Victoria, even if it meant beating her down. You trusted Wynonna and took Waverly. If there weren’t so many roadblocks and accidents, you would’ve made it to the hospital. I know you tried. None of that sounds like a person bound for Hell.”

Nicole looked up. “What about the gay part?”

Shae rolled her eyes. “There it is.”

“Waverly, though. She—she was a keeper. For real, this time. No fantasies. No ideas. All reality.” Nicole laughed to herself. “And I almost turned her down. Can you believe that? Sounds so stupid, now.”

Shae grinned. “It sounded stupid in the moment, too.” Nicole spared a small laugh. “Why’d you do that, again?”

“I was afraid of _us,_ what we had. That I’d screw it up and maybe she’d end up dead. And I was afraid the world wouldn’t let us last.” She almost burst into laughter. “I guess I was right about that last bit.”

“Why’d you say yes?”

Shae was playing therapist. Normally Nicole would shut it down, but today it was actually working. Something special about a final session, maybe.

So she answered, “I guess I was tired of the world kicking my ass. I knew finding love would be dangerous. End up like, well, _this_ , but she was worth it. Seeing Levi and Ambrose helped. I just, knew. I knew the stakes were higher if we got together, until it turned into something else.”

“What?”

“Something worth fighting for, not running from.”

“And damn did you fight.”

“And damn was it worth it.”

“She was good for you.” Nicole didn’t fight a grin. “When Victoria died, you didn’t see me. Not once.”

“We haven’t had a good old fashioned screaming match in a while. I guess it just took the right person.”

“People. All of them. They’re so much better for you than Lou’s gang was.”

“Much. But mostly Waverly.”

Shae rolled her eyes. “But mostly Waverly.”

Nicole looked off to the life surrounding her. Peaceful, quiet, welcoming. “If this was going to happen, I’m glad it happened now.” She met Shae’s figure, real or not, and smiled. “I’m happy. I got to love Waverly. I met people I’ve grown to care for. I stood up to Victoria. I can say ‘Michael’ and not go into a full breakdown. I’m _talking_ with you. I’m not where I was before, stuck in my own head. Not caring if I lived or died. I’m happy, Shae.” She settled back on the tree trunk, comfortable, a smile unapologetically on her lips. “I’m happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could. Not. Resist. Quoting. Riley. Abel.
> 
> (Yes, that silver sandwich line is an ATLA reference, thanks.)


	23. The Jack of Knives

The second Waverly’s senses returned to her waking brain she grasped around her, feeling loneliness like a cold chill. Then it all hit her: the screeching herd behind them, Nicole’s arm, the long goodbyes, Nicole handing off all but one bullet, her family ring . . . Never waking in Nicole’s arms again. All because she didn’t notice Tucker. Because she dropped that damn shotgun telling that dumb story. Because she couldn’t escape the restaurant. Allowed herself to be shot. Couldn’t, for once, protect herself.

It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t right. After all this, all they’d been through, it just wasn’t right. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. They were supposed to make it to Sanctuary. Try to attempt normalcy with everyone else when the world went back to the way it was. Sit in some crummy old café, talk. They were supposed to get coffee.

Waverly, truly, woke alone in her tent. Jeremy and Eliza dozed off in Dolls’s. Rosita played guardian and slept in the SUV. Doc never moved from the grass, tucked away in Dolls’s sleeping bag. Next to him, Dolls and Wynonna, asleep where they’d been talking.

And Dolls woke, pleasantly, to find Wynonna Earp curled up by his side, peaceful as he’d ever seen her. Only a small hint of her natural bite, the way she fisted his shirt in her slumber, twitching slightly. In his thoughts he cheered her on, to defeat whatever foe she took on in her dreams. Then he caught sight of Doc, snoring his head off feet away, and his smile died. Wynonna and Doc had a weird romantic something, he reminded himself. At least that’s how he saw it. He told himself to back off, snap out of it. So he eased himself up for the day, careful not to disturb Wynonna, and prepped for hunting. Maybe he’d grab Eliza, or go off alone, despite their rule. He wanted to be considerate, let everyone rest after their difficult night. He looked off to the trees. Where Nicole’s rotting corpse would be. Though he didn’t recall hearing an actual gunshot. Maybe he missed it. Canned food, he decided. No way he was stumbling across a dead friend’s body. He’d done that plenty in his time.

The fire sprung back to life easy, one match doing the trick, even in the light winds. He stared into the heating cans of soup, together in pots they could afford to carry now, wondering how much longer he’d be able to go on rationing soup before going totally nuts. It was like getting his wisdom teeth out all over again.

He expected to first be met with Wynonna’s presence this morning, given her talent for springing to life at the scent of a meal. Instead he found Rosita by his side, senses much too sharp for first thing in the morning, like she’d been up for hours now.

Silent for a bit. Nicole on their mind. The uncertain distance proving itself uncertain. The future.

Rosita brought up their mutual loss of direction first. How, for once, she was ready to step back. Not be a part of a bigger cause, other than living life for herself, for a change. No family to support. No big, fancy college degree to get in order to finally, one day, have something. Just Rosita Bustillos, and everything Rosita Bustillos wants and deserves in life, whatever the hell it might be. Sanctuary was her dream, and she’d hoped it was Dolls’s, too.

Dolls admitted it was beginning to become his, too. This journey, in a way, was freeing. No orders to follow but his own. No cause but his own. Why would he give that up now, rejoining a militia group? For the first time in his life, Xavier Dolls felt he had the power to choose to be free. Pursue his own goals. Find his own Sanctuary.

-

It was odd the road in this town was empty, like someone else with a car cleared the way already. Probably for the best, leaving them closer to their goal and further from Nicole’s eternal resting place. Waverly wasn’t sure of the distance. She was barely aware they were driving, or that she was sitting in the SUV at all. Furthest row, where she and Nicole always were despite Nicole’s long legs. She sat leaned against the rear window, lost in music downloaded on Nicole’s phone, old pair of headphones Nicole still had plugged in her ears. Older songs, mostly, as Waverly’d guessed. Johnny Cash, Bonnie “Prince” Billy, so on. She was somewhat aware they’d entered a city. Not too big, not too small. Certainly not as big as Nicole’s town.

Nicole’s town.

Waverly shook her head, tried to distract herself. She looked off, to find a sound trap. Once, deep in the past, Bobo accidentally tripped one. First encounter with hunters, who chased them all over town. First time it hit them just what their world had become. And now she’d found hope in the shape of Nicole, only to lose it. So of course she’d see a damn sound trap right now.

It didn’t look active, so she didn’t pay too much effort into finding its trigger. Not that there was effort to _find._ Turns out it was active, the way Dolls suddenly slammed the brakes. Doc’s window was down, and from Waverly’s short observation everyone heard it. Everyone but Jeremy, who was napping and smacked into Dolls’s seatback from inertia. Wynonna snickered.

They idled a moment. Doc’s and Rosita’s sharp eyes scanned the area. All clear, no Infected and no hunters rampaging in. Still, not a promise they were alone.

Wynonna declared their truck bad luck as Dolls once again went at a pace slow enough for be beaten on foot, and cursed their week as a whole. Jeremy agreed; he’d never been electrocuted fixing up a car before. She asked, mockingly, how long Jeremy had been a mechanic for. They went on and on, back and forth, but once again Waverly tuned them out, staring at the wallpaper on Nicole’s phone. Despite never getting to use the now-useless device Nicole changed it to the picture she took in the Perley sisters’ hotel, one with Waverly in it. It was Waverly’s intention to go through the entire gallery of photos stored, but the phone flew from her hands as Dolls slammed the brakes again, Wynonna restraining her against the seat with a firm arm. Her older sister snickered again as Jeremy, again, smacked into the back of Dolls’s seat.

But the sudden braking wasn’t what Waverly was worried about, or anyone else, for that matter. What was concerning was the sudden, controlled explosion erupting from the rear of the SUV. How easily it caused the whole thing to swerve from Dolls’s steady control, like a spooked stallion. Only stopping when they crashed, hood-first, into the side of an old semi. The truck stop’s final _fuck you_ to the team, perhaps.

“Is everyone okay?” their leader gasped.

Groans, a couple yeses. Dolls swore, pushing the bloated airbag from his face and exiting with a few, stumbling steps. He and Jeremy immediately searched for serious damage, as Doc and Rosita went back to work searching the area with their trustworthy sights. Waverly was lost in her thoughts, as Wynonna and Eliza inspected another broken tripwire behind them, feet from the scorch marks of the explosion. Wynonna cursed their luck again; someone was messing with them.

The team snapped to attention, Waverly included, at the too-familiar blasting of guns. Doc spotted a line of them perched on a rooftop nearby, warned everyone where to hide. Assuming there were no other setups to counter their angles. But, as quick as they fired, they ceased, with only a single man to show, looking down on the team. A warning, of sorts. _Back off,_ clear as day. Then, like nothing, he left, guns included. Together, the team caught their breaths.

“Well,” Wynonna said, “that was my yearly dose of creepy.”

“Please tell me the car’s good enough to drive out,” Rosita added.

“Yeah,” Wynonna agreed, “I’m with her. We’re so close—I don’t want to see any more creepy shit!”

Dolls had nothing but doubt, less and less the more he and Jeremy tried. All he had to offer: “Our best bet is to keep pushing forward on foot. And hope we don’t run into _him_.”

Wynonna was groaning, as loud as possible. “Or sprint. As fast as possible from the Batman impersonator.”

“And a poor one, at that,” Jeremy scoffed.

She turned to Dolls. “Where to, Captain?”

 _Anywhere but here_ was the simple answer. Otherwise, Dolls didn’t have one. Clearly whoever they were up against now probably had the whole place rigged, maybe even watching them. No telling where was the wrong place to go, where was the right. So, _anywhere but here,_ anywhere but right in front of that man, would have to do.

He led his team off the highway and onto an exit into town. No choice, seeing as this mysterious stranger with a notable attitude blew the damn bridge to shreds. Did he or didn’t he want them to leave? Or, crueler, give them the illusion they had a choice, that they could escape whatever deathtrap loomed?

Cruel illusion it was, given every possible path was blocked off by concrete debris, trucks, buses. Easily, they could see a beaten path was leading right back to the man out to get them. Cruel illusion: official.

“That’s not suspicious,” Eliza mumbled before Wynonna could, eyeing the unsubtle trail ahead.

By now they’d tried every possible thing, every possible path. Fell a few times trying to climb, tried to shoot wooden debris, only for more above to fall down and block the way further. Tried moving cars, only to find some with missing tires or boots, unable to move anywhere anytime soon. Suspicious trail was the only clear, possible exit.

“Maybe we can sneak past him?” Dolls thought aloud. Wynonna’s eyes blew open.

“Fuck you! No way!”

“There has got to be some other way.” Even Doc was unsettled by whatever awaited them.

“ _Any_ other way,” Jeremy agreed.

“One without a potential serial killer,” Rosita added.

“I could help you.”

The team turned simultaneously, to find a stranger, chewing on something with the most casual of looks. No care for seven peoples’ guns in his face. No reaction to the girlish scream from Jeremy, or the way Doc pulled his revolver so fast it flew from his grip and onto the snow at his boots. The stranger’s physique didn’t match the man from before in any way, beginning with the zero hints of danger he posed. Other than having no reaction to a crowd of people pulling guns on him, a near-thirty-year-old’s girlish scream, and a “professional” gunslinger’s gun flying right from its owners _skilled_ hand. So maybe he was alright. He didn’t drop any prewritten threats or unleash a villain monologue—so far, so good.

“Dude, don’t sneak up on people!” Wynonna spat. “This is the apocalypse! Wear a bell or something, okay?”

He apologized, introduced himself as, simply, Reggie. Then he was offering his fellow survivors—a point he made a real deal of—a way through town, somewhere they could lay low and find freedom.

“I’ve been trying for days to get out of here now,” he finished up. “I know the place pretty well by now.”

“Sure,” Wynonna spat again. “I love sleepovers in creepy towns. Really turns my crank.”

She looked to Dolls, a silent _Back me up on this, partner!_ Nothing. Like he was really, actually considering following this totally-not-shady stranger through the rest of this definite slaughterhouse of a town. To her horror and everyone else’s, he answered, “Not much else we can do.”

Of course Dolls didn’t trust this man. He wasn’t a rookie. But he didn’t match the same man as earlier. There was a slim chance he was actually telling the truth. They hadn’t anywhere else to go, other than backtracking and completely rerouting their trip, adding possibly days or falling for whatever backup nonsense their foe had planned for such an occasion. So he was willing to risk breaking the “trust no one ever” rule. Only because he was confident in the people he was with, and their abilities.

“Fine,” Wynonna sighed. “Let’s rent a house in the creepy neighborhood with the creepy dude interested in parkour and demolitions.”

Wynonna knew what to think of their new “ally”, none of it involving trust. She tried to get Nicole in on it, then stopped herself, felt her heart drop. Because, as she seemed to keep forgetting, Nicole wasn’t here. Third time today she looked around and wondered where Nicole was. So she stuck closer than often to Waverly, who was clearly not as _here_ as usual. Wondered if she was having the same problem.

-

“How you holding up, baby girl?”

Waverly turned from the window she faced, eyeing the growing snowfall outside Reggie’s claimed shelter. A small shop, once selling perfumes, lotions, things that didn’t matter now. Behind the form of her worried sister, the others were gathered around a table, Reggie pointing out the places he’d been and hadn’t, places that were safe and were unchecked. Earlier, before she tuned out, Reggie said he had a larger group with him, now its sole survivor. Someone reported, before they’d bled out and died in front of him, an exit nearby. Everyone else was lost along the way, trying to find it. She didn’t buy it, but thought maybe it had something to do with her mood. But Wynonna’s subtle eye roll, Doc’s doubtful clearing of his throat, and Dolls’s expression proved they were all on the same page. But what other choice did they have here? They had nothing to begin with, so might as well throw in the gamble this man was actually being truthful. Made the day more exciting, frankly, and perhaps took their minds off the predicament they’d once again found themselves in.

“Not good,” Waverly was honest enough to admit, eyes tired and glued to the ground. And Waverly’s eye contact was always present, strong, in a respectful manner. One that spoke, _I hear you._ “I’m glad she’s not stuck in this mess with us, but—” She shook her head, sighing. “But I really wish she was in this mess with us.”

“Hey.” Wynonna’s voice was as fearless and brave and assuring as ever as she pulled her sister into an embrace, one hoping to transfer every bit of light left in her. “I miss her, too,” she spoke, clinging tightly to her sister. “I’m really sorry, Waves.”

“Thanks.” Her voice was muffled in Wynonna’s shoulder, so she pulled back, at last looking her sister in the eye. “Thank you for saving us.” No lecture on how stupid Wynonna was, sacrificing herself like that. “Thank you for finding me.” She smiled, small, in the corner of her lips. “I know you both probably tore the place apart.”

“Pissed some people off too, maybe,” Wynonna laughed. “Hey, turns out the geared-up asshole was Jonas.”

“What?” Genuine, shocked interest on Waverly’s face.

So Wynonna nodded to keep her engaged, “Uh huh. He tried to defend that shithead, Tucker.” She rolled her eyes. “Like everyone always seemed to. We faced off in the end. Mercedes gave an assist, but Nicole dealt the finishing blow.”

Waverly grinned, in full, eyes meeting the ground again. “That’s my girl.”

Wynonna was grinning, herself. “Served that asshole right.”

Then she was cursing herself; she never thanked Nicole, for putting down the worst of the worst Purgatory had thrown at her, someone who had her trust and betrayed it so easily, so quickly. Someone who grew her doubt, her trust issues. Not to mention how fully she backed Wynonna on Tucker Gardner, a person who’d gotten away with every little thing simply because no one believed he did whatever crazy thing it was he did. And when they _did_ believe, no one did a thing about it. She didn’t want to consider what sick things he might’ve done to Waverly, the way he spent all those years creeping on her back home.

Then she was laughing. Here she was, a hustler, a criminal, thanking a cop for doing her job.

-

Reggie was confident about this route. Wynonna choked on his enthusiasm, nothing more than a ruse in her eyes. Of course he was confident, she grumbled. Confident he’d get them killed in whatever elaborate plot this was. Steps off Eliza was voicing her doubts, too, asking Dolls if he was totally sure about this. No difficulty getting him to admit he wasn’t. But if Reggie _was_ in on this big scheme, at least, for a bit, he’d keep them from pulling any more traps, getting explosives thrown at them like their truck. When he realized his plan was playing it by ear, he cursed Wynonna for rubbing off on him, from his personality to his daily plots to avoid ending up six feet under.

He asked Doc to keep an eye out. Eliza remarked she didn’t like this. Wynonna agreed, uncaring and maybe even unfazed how Dolls was so willing to play this by ear. But then this wasn’t their first time playing things by ear. So maybe it wouldn’t be their first time scraping away by the skin of their teeth, living another day to laugh near-death experiences off. Unless their luck was catching up to them. Nicole was gone, wasn’t she? Dolls felt a chill. A hint of doubt. Not too late to turn back, was it?

“According to my fallen friend,” Reggie said after a long silence, “our killer lives in the movie set ahead.”

Wynonna scoffed to herself, still doubtful. “Right,” she huffed under her breath, “ ‘fallen friend’.”

Reggie hadn’t overheard. “It was the set of a western. There are fake buildings on a street, some old carriages. A few horses still linger around here, too.”

Doc perked up at “horses”. True cowboy. Wynonna was scoffing again, “A supernatural western—great. Just what the world needs.”

“So we’re dealing with some theatre kid, then?” Rosita asked.

“Great,” Wynonna said again. “Best kind of people. Especially the ones who don’t make it.”

“Just keep alert,” Dolls chimed. “We’ll lose whoever they are in the storm.”

Another silence, this one shorter than the last. Doc planned to begin to ask Reggie questions, more personal, with the hope of uncovering any possible lies. But once he made the list in his head Reggie fell, a gunshot blasting from the shadows of a surrounding alley. He rolled to his side and flopped on his back, lifeless, a gaping, gushing wound in his chest to prove it.

Wynonna stepped in front of her sister, a protective human shield—not a new practice. Doc searched for the source. Both summoned the coded _Dolls, what next?_ with nothing more than a look to the man. He took an educated guess of the bullet’s trajectory and ran from it, leading them ahead and through another alleyway. Only for the seven to have more debris collapsed onto them.

Doc woke first, retrieving his lost hat before waking his allies. Priorities. Wynonna and Eliza weren’t around, a scoped rifle, Eliza’s, discarded on their side of a fallen pole separating them from the alley’s exit, cornering them. Doc took it for his own, temporarily.

Some time to gather their breaths, gather their energy, then they were onward. The pole was lifted as far as possible, enough to make a slightly roomy crawlspace. First Waverly, then Jeremy, then Rosita, then Dolls cursing himself for looking for Nicole to usher through next, then Doc. The three held the thing up for Dolls to go through, letting it crash to the ground afterwards. Some wood planks fell with it.

No Wynonna, from what they could find in this snowy fog. Next winter they’d be holed up in one place, not travelling through impossible weather. Exiting the alleyway, Doc followed footprints in the snow, accompanied with a trail that could only be the dragging of a body. A second line of footprints was present, in a fashion more chaotic, scattered. Steps advancing were deeper where the ball of the foot was, kicking some snow into the prints behind. Desperate, like its owner had been running. Either Eliza or Wynonna, was Doc’s bet. His allies called their names into the nothingness. If they were still around maybe they’d cut this investigation in half.

Bullet shells. Nine millimeter pistol—not Wynonna, but Eliza. Doc was constructing the scenario out loud. “Wynonna was the one bein’ dragged. The one runnin’ was Miss Shapiro.” He pointed to the three shells reflecting Dolls’s flashlight. “Miss Shapiro’s gun.”

They kept following him, kept following what few leads they had. Until, suddenly, Doc froze. No second trail of footprints, because its owner was here, face-down in the snow.

“Miss Shapiro,” Doc gasped.

Dolls fell to his knees. Felt a cold going deeper than this storm could ever hope to as he stared. _Stared._ Stared, because there was nothing else he could do. Nothing he _wanted_ to. Nothing that could change a single detail of the horrid sight filling his eyes.

Eliza Shapiro, dead in the snow. Nine millimeter pistol, clutched in her lifeless fingers, Firefly pendant around her neck against the ground as she was. Touching it as lifelessly as she was.

There were more gunshots. Waverly and Jeremy ducked, Rosita pulled her rifle from her shoulder, Doc looked ahead, pistols pointed out. Dolls didn’t react. Like he couldn’t hear. Like it didn’t matter. Maybe now it _didn’t_ matter, as he stared at the lifeless corpse of the second member of his team to die just this week. As he stared at the closest person he’d gotten to in his life, someone he’d gone to war with time and time again. Someone he’d lost then found. Someone, at many points, he loved more than anything in the world.

“Partner,” Doc was shaking him by the shoulder lightly, “it’s time to go.”

Dolls was motionless. Doc ushered him again. Nothing. Only a blank stare into the dearest of all those in his life. Jeremy tried, getting some parts of him to snap back to reality.

He stood. Snow fell from his soaked knees. He eyed the ongoing trail, leading into the unknown. Leading to Wynonna Earp. “We’re going after this fucking asshole,” he snarled, feeling a fury he’d never felt in his life. “He’s not taking another one.”

Waverly cocked her shotgun. “Definitely not Wynonna.”

-

The trail ended one side of the set’s split street. But more footprints suggested the strange man, from the beginning of this mess, was on the other side. Like he’d dropped Wynonna off and moved elsewhere. Or maybe she came to and was trying to escape. A shared, unbreakable determination, Waverly and Dolls made the decision to go against group protocol by splitting up. Waverly, Jeremy, and Rosita on the left, where Wynonna’s trail ended. Doc and Dolls on the right, where the unknown man could be.

Doc and Dolls searched the fronts of these false buildings, until more gunfire forced them inside for refuge. Shooters were in the middle of the street, judging from the bullet inches from touching Doc’s face, landing in a wall next to him. Just his luck, cherry on this sour day, the second he ripped the building’s door open a knife flew for him. Grazed his arm as he retaliated, nearly knocking Dolls completely over. Inside he announced he’d be fine before Dolls could ask.

Dim lighting inside. A saloon, straight from any and every old western Doc had seen. Two stories, old timey piano, long bar stretching across the length of the ground floor. Tables all around, one with an old poker set scattered across, another with an unfinished game of blackjack. Prop holsters dropped on the ground, but no guns inside. Were they taken?

No time to theorize, because more guns made themselves clear from above, firing with little window for the boys to kick over some tables and duck. Bar was directly under the staircase, an otherwise ideal place to hide. Hostiles were on the second floor, guns arching over the bannister.

The boys shot blindly, unsure how much time had passed and how many bullets they’d wasted. Gunfire didn’t stop, and it felt not a single shooter had fallen. Both Doc and Dolls found the whole thing odd. Why hadn’t they tried to get the angle by now? Surround them on the ground floor? Move, at all? Doc’s eyes met one of the empty prop holsters. Then he swore.

He shot upward, to Dolls’s horror, standing completely still. Confident, as if nothing could pierce his flesh. And, truly, nothing here _could_ pierce his flesh, because those guns were shooting blanks. Dolls stood, too, and suddenly the concept of their tables being in perfect shape under unrelenting gunfire wasn’t something he questioned further.

Trying to tune out the near-realistic noise, the boys noted the area. The “people” on the second floor weren’t people, but dummies. Hence the dim lighting. The guns were mounted onto the bannister, firing on some sort of automatic loop. Doc looked closer. Strings, pulling the triggers back repeatedly, and a tripwire by the front entrance. Step in, think you’ll die, spend an eternity trying to defend yourself. Funny prank.

Dolls was questioning the point of all this, as he climbed the staircase. Perhaps there was something worth checking out above. A game? Some sick kind of fun? Weird recruitment course for some mid-apocalypse cult?

Again, no time to think. While lost in thought Dolls pulled another wire. Immediately, faster than he thought he could move, he dove down the staircase. Landed roughly on his shoulder, long guns slipping off, and rolled further down as a small explosive went off where he would be. Doc helped him up, both men eyeing the scorch marks shadowed across the second floor, the pieces of wood blown off an already temporary, cheap structure.

“Who the hell _is_ this guy?” Dolls breathed, clutching his aching shoulder.

-

“Holy shit.”

Wynonna Earp woke, soothing her throbbing head with a rub of her fingers.

She inspected her surroundings with a funny glare of confusion. Bars? Like jail cell bars? And Christ, what was that awful smell? Fit to turn her stomach, worse than Dolls’s morning breath. Before he scrubbed them to oblivion. Odd philosophy of Dolls’s: if he went out, we went out clean. Not a slob, he claimed. Wynonna wasn’t ashamed to admit she’d miss a day or two. Alcohol was cleansing, wasn’t it?

She stood, finding herself on some old cot. Western set, was it? Bars, funny smell, all bad senses tingling—jail. Had to be.

“Can’t the system let my record go?” she grumbled. “The world ended, for fuck’s sake. Nothing they can prove, anyway. Well, maybe a couple B&Es.” She laughed to herself, slowing her small stride. “Ah, the Banditos. Those assholes knew how to party.”

She halted, fully, bars between her fingers, head pushing close to get a look of the place.

“Oh, fuck.”

Bad smell: not morning breath. Worse, if possible.

Bodies, every inch of the small space, but for one, perfect, untouched corner across from her. Walls, floors, ceiling painted in red, enough blood to fill a whole lake. All corpses mutilated. Some against the wall, missing limbs with organs seeping from chests. All men, few women. There were other women, not unlike Wynonna’s features, strewn across tables. Whole torso opened, and—Jesus—insides shuffled about, from what Wynonna could see in her small corner. This asshole like to open women up and rearrange them? She was probably next. Or else she’d be dead by now, right? She felt a burst of determination. Time to get the hell out.

She stopped. Reggie, on a table, too, different marks from before. Stripped down to his undergarments, no bullet holes, but a large knife wound. So this _was_ an act, then? Gunshots were fake. No, didn’t make any sense. He was killed anyway. That, or the plot was still going, with serious continuity errors.

Door opening. A rush of outside. Door closing and separating outside from inside. The man from before, in person. The devil on his face when he saw Wynonna.

“Well, you’re a sick fuck, aren’t you?” Wynonna blurted. The man only laughed, made his way over. “You looking for a kidney donor, or just a _different_ choice in hobbies?”

He laughed again. “You’re mouthy. I like that. The others, they only scream. Beg.”

“Like you don’t enjoy that.”

“It’s nice to have a change of pace here and again.”

She indicated Reggie. “That why you killed your friend? Never imagined Batman would get sick of Robin.”

He was inches from Wynonna now, and if it weren’t for the bars of a realistic cell she’d rip his throat out and move on.

“Reginald broke the rules,” he said, so casually, “so I had to put him down.”

Wynonna wanted to laugh. Serial killers following a bro code? Had to be a joke.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” he said again, no real sorrow to his voice. “She was a fighter. Reginald knows not to shoot to kill. She would’ve been fun. Even if she was blonde. Ah, well.”

Only one blonde on the team. Wynonna sputtered a moment. They were so close to the end now. They’d lost two people in two days. Both to fates they didn’t deserve.

“You motherfucker,” she snarled, gripping the bars until her knuckles went pale, “I’ll make you _wish_ you were dead.”

He only laughed, again. The sound making Wynonna want to tear those damn bars down. But she could only watch as the man walked off, for Reggie.

“Reginald was a good assistant.” He began the classic villain monologue, looking over Reggie like a blank canvas. “He liked to help. He didn’t question me. He led people here, with no fault. He proposed we use the props from this set. Guns with blanks, blood capsules, squibs.”

A long blade found his hand, fingers caressing it like a gentle animal. Like the precious tool it was.

“He followed the rules—”

In a flash the blade was up, down. The man’s near flawless features splattered red. The shined, sharpened blade a crimson, what it could not contain dripping to the floor. Reggie’s head, here than there, attached, then detached. Falling to the ground, uselessly, its contents oozing more red onto the seasoned wood below.

“—until he didn’t,” he finished with a growl.

Wynonna was battling every ounce of anxiety in her system. Now wasn’t a good time to lose it. Lose it, and game’s over. Freak out later, once this asshole was good and dead.

She shot, “You really _that_ bored, Jerry or whatever the fuck? Never met a serial killer with no brand. How will you get the attention you crave, you womanless mama’s boy?”

Another amused laugh. “You can call me Jack.”

“Victorian London—already taken. Pick again, copycat.”

Another laugh. He headed for the door, bloodied machete still in hand. “I’m going to enjoy you.”

Open door. A taste of outside’s vast freedom. Closed door. All her feelings hitting her at once. Wynonna fell into a heavy pant, like she’d finished a marathon seconds ago. Then that feeling of determination again. Peacemaker, on the desk outside, with her other things. She took a long breath. Thought of Waverly.

“Baby girl, be safe.”

-

“Holy crap!”

“Oh shit!”

“ _¡_ _Chale!_ ”

A string of Spanish so long even Rosita wasn’t sure what she was saying. She slammed the set door closed, she, Jeremy, and Waverly finding themselves in a replica doctor’s office, lungs gasping for air, begging for once to take it easy.

There’d been a field of actual explosions outside, triggered by the ever-present tripwire. If not for a _click_ they wouldn’t have known to run. Good thing Jeremy had perfect, bat ears. Wynonna’s kidnapper must’ve primed them when he came this way earlier; they saw more of the trail going up the road.

Rosita hadn’t stopped her long streak of anxious Spanish, too quick for master linguist Waverly to translate fully. Lots of swears, curses to God, curses to a Miguel? Old friend, maybe?

She and Jeremy stared outside. Mines were ongoing, about where they would’ve been by now if still running. Too close a call. They tried outside again, tossing a whole fire extinguisher to be sure of a clear space. Any other, smaller items that should’ve been in a movie set doctor’s office were missing. Looted, perhaps. Outside was clear, now. Rosita took the lead, Jeremy by her side, Waverly trailing, too stubborn to admit her fresh wound was affecting her all over now. Adrenaline helped for the most part, but the damn graze demanded to be felt. Apparently losing Nicole wasn’t pain enough.

Rosita stopped. Jeremy gasped. Waverly tried to follow along, feeling her head going for a spin. She snapped awake as Rosita’s rifle jumped to attention, locked ahead. The man, one they’d later know as Jack, standing on a carriage. Watching them, reminding them who was predator and who was prey.

“ _Lo has jodido._ ”

Their stalker, in Rosita’s sights. Their stalker, about to turn in for good.

Their stalker, one step ahead with his tricks and traps.

His illusions created an image of people running for them, guns already shooting. Blanks, in truth, and dummies pulled on strings. How dumb they’d feel, later.

For now, the very real threat forced them back into the doctor’s office. Waverly clutched her side. A real doctor might’ve been nice about now, as they pressed on. Kept moving, hoping to lose those “men” in the low visibility, conveniently beginning to clear up. They’d waste time searching, while the three could grab Wynonna and run. Then, Doc and Dolls. Waverly was starting to see why splitting up was always on their list of _don’ts._

They passed building to building, climbing in through windows when side doors weren’t available (a feat Waverly chose to struggle with silently). Might’ve been easier, whatever traps definitely awaiting all around. Easier to see than those buried in the snow outside.

“What the hell is this guy’s deal?” Rosita asked as they hurried along. Rhetorically, she intended. _He’s crazy!_ was the one and only answer.

“He’s toying with us,” Jeremy said, “but why?”

Waverly scoffed, “Because he has nothing better to do.”

Rosita crashed to a halt, pulled Jeremy to the same. Waverly almost bumped into her, as knives fell from the ceiling, impaling themselves into the ground. No tripwire this time, but a motion sensor. Whatever power grid was holding this place together needed to be shut down.

Gunfire outside reminded them to hurry along. Rosita kept an eye out, Jeremy tried not to stress about their foes, Waverly focused narrowly on her most important task: Wynonna. So much that she suffered a couple missteps, almost lost her head twice. And ignoring her wound best as possible. Rosita noticed, all of it. The care she didn’t exhibit. The way she held her side. Still, she said nothing.

Until Waverly pulled an obvious tripwire, pushing ahead without thought. An axe swung from the wall. Immediately, dropping her heavy rifle, Rosita tackled Waverly. Axe sliced horizontally, leaving room to them to fall without injury. Other than Waverly’s injured right side kissing the floor. Keeping up the tough guy act, she tried to ignore it, her face red with searing pain. Rosita helped her up, carefully.

“Waverly, I know you’re hurting,” intending more emotionally than physically, “but you need to be careful. Slow down a little bit.”

Jeremy was reaching for his supplies. “Do you ne—”

“No,” Waverly shrugged them both off. “It’s a graze. I’m fine. Let’s keep going, okay?”

Rosita stopped her. Waverly tried to throw a scowl, but, frankly, Rosita’s was more frightening. So she let up.

“We’re wasting time,” she tried instead. “Wynonna is out there. “I’m not losing her, too. She is all I have left.”

Rosita obliged, but kept Waverly at a slow, smarter pace. “Wynonna will be fine,” she promised. “We’ll find her and we’ll get out of here, no problem.”

Jeremy agreed, “Yeah, she’s tough. Smart, too.”

“But if you hurt yourself any further, or get freakin’ decapitated, you won’t be helping her. So take it easy.”

Waverly stopped, her jaw clenched in a stifled rage. “Everyone keeps saying everything will be okay. Everything will work out. We just found Eliza—dead! I always told Nicole she’d be safe from Runners, and they got her anyway. Now she’s dead, too! Wynonna isn’t joining them. I won’t let her.”

Rosita stopped her and her resuming pace again. “The world hasn’t been fair. I know. I don’t even know if my family’s alive.”

Waverly’s eyes shut, a small sigh escaping. A silent _Way to go, Earp,_ not having thought about that detail in the slightest _._

“Getting yourself killed? That’s the only way you can make your shitty hand worse.” Rosita continued forward, Waverly not fighting the pace. “I need you to look out. For Wynonna. For Nicole.”

Waverly was nodding, her eyes scanning the area. “Okay.”

More motion sensors, more tripwires ahead. They were walking with heads on swivels and eyes peeled, dodging what they could and setting off traps from a distance, if possible. Here’s where Waverly took charge over Rosita, using Nicole’s machete to chop down wires and waving it in front of sensors. Small explosions, flying knives, a burst of fire here and there, all harming no one. No more slip ups either, nothing aside from cautious, smart determination to save her sister. And finally getting the hell out of this place.

-

“I really hope you’re sure about this.”

“Oh come now, partner, don’t you trust me?”

“No. You have a history of telling feel-good lies.”

“Well—I—trust me.”

“That’s really convincing.”

Doc and Dolls exited the replica saloon only moments before, where they’d hid again once Waverly’s team set off the mines. As they advanced onward they found themselves caught up in sneaking past traps or setting them off. They mostly navigated outdoors, but still found gimmicks about. Dolls cursed himself for letting them split up. In the moment it felt fine. Simply, get Wynonna and worry about nothing else, ever. Dumb, especially now; the boys knew of the tricks, the fake guns, the mannequins—Waverly’s team didn’t. Couldn’t exactly phone it in, either.

So, Doc proposed they sabotage the line of guns, placed in the middle of the street. Should only take a second. No telling where the missing trio was, so maybe it’d be faster to communicate the threats as fake by ruining whatever triggered them. Dolls still preferred finding them. That, and he had a feeling more explosives were lined by the guns. He’d been learning to take his gut’s advice.

To exercise caution, he threw a broken plank of wood to the center of the street, the area surrounding the stage rifles. Doc thought it ridiculous—before shutting up. Watching, his light eyes reflecting the large explosion that followed. Watching, as the collection turned to ash. Rolling his eyes at Dolls’s I-told-you-so expression.

“See?” he played it off, revolvers leaving his holsters. “I told you it’d be fine.”

Across the way Waverly’s trio ducked behind a cashier counter in this elaborate scape, one that happened to be on the street’s side. One look out the window revealed Doc and Dolls, before the fog swallowed them again. Best to join up, Rosita decided.

-

Jack was rushing back to the jail set, a hint of worry to his cocky face. A look all his captives, living or not, could take joy in.

“Setting off some Fourth of July fireworks?” Wynonna poked. She heard the explosions but had no way of seeing them herself. No way of knowing if it was Waverly or not, either. “ ‘Cause it’s March. And we’re in Canada.” She frowned. “Not that we Canadians can’t have a good time, too.”

Jack was darting place to place, grabbing knives he deemed most acceptable. No one dead so far was spooking him a bit. Leading him to regret killing Reggie, who typically handled the smart batches. Jack distracted, Wynonna grabbed him when he passed the cell. Aimed for his neck, with the limited space she had, to strangle him. Stupid, awkward bars let him get away, a threatening look to his features.

“I don‘t want to hurt that beautiful face.”

Then he was off. But Wynonna didn’t fret, didn’t dwell on her failed killing of the Jack of Knives, her failed escape attempt. She almost leaped with joy actually, because she’d managed one of his weapons, one small enough to pick the cell lock with.

-

Faster now, Rosita and Jeremy monitoring Waverly Too-Stubborn-To-Sit-Back Earp. A slight fault when they witnessed another body, running, and a second, following. Quicker than before—no way that _wasn’t_ Wynonna. Or, at least, the man responsible for all this. A lead to Wynonna either way.

Wynonna it was, running from Jack. She underestimated him, thinking him predictable. Thinking he was closer to the explosions, plotting to kill her team and end this game. Earlier he participated, scaring Doc by shooting a real rifle at him to force him in the saloon. But no, he waited by his jail set, something threatening here for sure, something worth sticking around for, in the shadows. He, again, ripped Peacemaker from her grasp, by its own extended nose. So she ran, like prey, and he chased, like predator, in this game of hunt. This game of wills. This game of survival.

She ran for the buildings, immediately dodging a flock of knives, armed with her own blade and some matches. Wooden buildings—she figured why the hell not, if the occasion called. Rifle was too big, so she ditched it. Backpack was too heavy, so she ditched it. Damn Peacemaker’s long barrel!

Her team was still a ways off, not even sure which way she headed, only that she was headed somewhere, as was Jack. She didn’t see them. But she knew they were here, somewhere. She _hoped_.

She dove between two wires, one above and one at knee-level, rolling without grace and rushing to her feet. Only to bump into Jack, who’d circled around. She swatted her knife once, in a structureless bar brawl style. He blocked it with a larger cane sword, then lunged with its detachable handle, blade present, which she dodged. Tried to sneak in a punch, but Jack met her with a blow from the blunt cane. He managed a smack to her side, and again she swatted her knife. Again, he blocked, cane this time, and plunged the dagger into her side. Rightfully, she yelped in pain, swore, and ran off again.

Across the street she headed, into some sort of weapons range. All fake, of course. Jack followed suit, in that slow, creepy way horror movie killers did. A blood trail led to her, even after she’d covered her wound with a shaking hand. He had an evil grin, the same from earlier, like he’d been enjoying himself today. Truly, a busy day for the aspiring killer.

Wynonna threw caution to the wind, lit the building on fire once Jack entered, then left for the next. He didn’t bother to snuff it out, as she hoped, only follow as his bleeding target lost momentum with time. Plenty of buildings around, right? What’s the sense letting a target run to save just one?

She passed into some character’s residence now, hiding behind furniture. The whole setup was a mess, like this character wasn’t home much or didn’t care. Or perhaps Jack made the mess himself—But was now really the time to theorize?

She dodged some wires, caught the blinking of a motion sensor. A tool she was all too familiar with, as proved by her history of breaking and entering charges. She was unsure how she saw the wires in the crappy lighting. Maybe the universe _did_ give a damn.

There was enough room between an armchair and a wall for her to hide behind. Perfect range to tug a wire, too, one attached to an axe overhead. She could appreciate the irony in that. Waverly certainly would, if she were here.

Lure Jack over: first step. Lightly she tapped her blade’s handle against the wall. Heavy boots stopped. She saw the ends of a long suit jacket shuffle, its wearer changing direction. Slower, he approached.

She could feel the witty, douchey remark on his tongue, the one that died once the string broke by her blade. She reveled in the shocked expression on his collected face, promising this death a redemption for Eliza’s.

“Shit!”

She panicked as Jack side stepped, not a scratch on him. Shock gone, grin back. Wynonna shot up, swore a second time. Nowhere to run, without him pouncing on her. Fire next door, spreading here because the stupid sets were so close. So she improvised, throwing a pillow from the armchair and splitting. She was two steps to freedom when a small knife flew for her leg, scraped it deep. A small stumble, but she carried on. A bullet at her feet next. She halted. Peacemaker. Her own weapon. How dirty.

“Guns are too quick,” Jack said, voice an annoying calm, hint of slasher flick unease to it. “I don’t prefer to use them.”

Wynonna shrugged. “So don’t, then. Simple.”

He aimed again, motioned her over. She wasn’t sure why the hell she listened. He looked pleased with himself, getting his prey to obey. Like the talented hunter he probably thought himself.

Jack lost his confidence a moment, looking to the open doorway on his left. In the clearing fog he found a glimpse of Wynonna’s team, steps from his jail set. Wynonna wasn’t a fool, didn’t miss a beat. She forced Peacemaker’s long barrel upward, aimed her dagger for his throat. Jack moved at the last second, and instead the weapon pierced his shoulder. But, on the plus side, Peacemaker fell from his grip.

She should’ve known better than to reach for it, but in the moment it seemed so right. So simple. All it did was open a window for Jack to return the favor, stab _her_ in the shoulder, just under the collarbone. Later he planned to cut her up; no harm in starting early. He did so in a sort of uppercut motion as Wynonna moved to practically dive. He ripped it out as fast as it was inserted, a gush of red exploding out. He looked over his shoulder as Wynonna tried to collect herself. The team, closing onto the jail. Fire was enveloping the current building now, smoke collecting inside. Some of the team were noticing. They were bound to turn around, inspect. He hit Wynonna over the head with the cane and left, not checking to see whether or not she was conscious. This would take a second, and no way she could catch up to him in time to do any harm if she was awake. Jack felt a sick giddy, proof in his expression. Tonight, he’d feast.

His pace picked up, a single press of a remote forcing the team to stop. Turn, to find guns poking from the set’s porch. But they knew the drill. The guns were fake, so no worries. The only reason they remained here frozen, was because Jack revealed himself, freely, to them. He pushed on the remote again, on a second button. The team was still unfazed of his false rig, until a real bullet grazed Dolls’s shoulder. The sight made Waverly’s throb further. Dolls’s hand was out, in that lawman way he had when trying to negotiate. Maybe, somehow, they could work something out. Wow, even _he_ didn’t believe that.

Then, as fast as their hearts came to race, the Jack of Knives collapsed, sporting a third eye, an echoing boom to match. As quick as fear overtook them, a relief emerged. Then, shock.

And, again, Waverly Earp wasn’t sure if she was dreaming or not.

“Good thing I saved my last bullet.”

One of the extra handguns, raised, high in the air. Lowering, Jack’s death a sign to relax. Wynonna Earp, unconscious and all around in bad shape, draped over a taller frame. Taller frame holding shallow pants, red face, red hair, definition of relief in her expression.

Nicole Haught, staring back at her team. The lot frozen, like they’d seen a ghost. She took the first step for them, which they followed, bigger strides, smiles, laughs of disbelief.

“How?” Waverly was asking, barely able to manage the word.

“Later,” Nicole answered, laying Wynonna flat against the snow in a careful motion. “She doesn’t have a pulse.”

Dolls sprang into action, to Nicole’s relief. She questioned whether to not it was ethical to do mouth-to-mouth on her girlfriend’s sister, girlfriend watching. Dolls asked someone to put out the fire, check the traps behind them. Check Jack for a pulse. Nicole, Waverly, and Jeremy put the fire to rest, retrieving the extinguisher Waverly had found earlier and following Jeremy’s close instructions on how not to pass out in smoke. They focused only on their task.

Rosita double checked Jack’s status. Dead, totally, but she added an extra bullet to be sure. Behind her, Doc checked the jail set. He stopped a second to gag, as the overwhelming scent of a mass grave invaded his senses. Jack’s quarters, he declared with another look. Male corpses, hacked up for food. Female corpses, some for food, some for a sick idea of fun, their torsos opened and organs shuffled about inside. Look of pure terror latched onto their lifeless bodies. Jack’s knives, bloodied, hanging on walls or hanging out of corpses. A collection of suits next to a small cot. Doc was angry he didn’t kill the man himself.

He returned outside, gaining help from Rosita to dismount every rifle guarding Jack’s sick person at night. Not anymore. Feet away Dolls was gasping, tears overtaking him, as Wynonna Earp burst back to life. Her first words of revival being, “Oh, fuck!”

-

They elected to make use of the actors’ trailers for camp tonight, planning to sleep separately here. For now everyone huddled into one, patching up wounds and looking to Nicole for whatever miraculous explanation she had.

Simply, she raised her arm, showing off the bite, which was supposed to be worsening, not showing signs of healing, as it was. Laughing in the massive impossibility this was, she managed, “I’m immune.”

“Immune?” Jeremy’s eyes were wide. Soon he’d be with the Fireflies again, and here his friend was, immune. Opening every door possible to a cure to the Cordyceps virus.

“Immune,” Waverly laughed in response, same relief.

“Great,” Rosita said, “but what’s this mean? Should we take you to the Fireflies?”

Nicole had definitely underthought this aspect. Not losing Waverly after all totally overshadowed it. “Yes?” she guessed.

Wynonna sat up, swatting Dolls off as he ushered her to relax, lay back. “Then what? They spend ages picking your brain? Hell no.”

Doc chimed, “It is the cure for mankind.”

“Yeah, well, she is our friend. No offense, but who knows what those doctors will do, and if it’ll even work. And if it does, how will they distribute it? The military doesn’t trust the Fireflies for shit. We’re not risking Nicole on some gamble.” She sat back, crossing her arms, her point sitting in the air. “No way.”

Dolls sighed. “We’ll figure that out.”

“Figure it out first, and maybe we’ll have something here.”

“Why don’t we get Miss Haught’s—Miss Haught?”

They followed Doc’s gaze, to find both Nicole and Waverly missing. Wynonna glared out the window, to find her sister, grinning widely, leading Nicole elsewhere. Nicole said something and their pace broke, Waverly doubling over in laughter. Wynonna convinced everyone to rest, continue this in the morning.

-

The expert, muscle memory way Nicole casually kicked the trailer door closed was a bit intimidating. Proof she was probably way better at this thing than Waverly. But also sweet, because, however many notches on her post, she was here, right now, with Waverly. Sneaking off. Kissing hungrily, like they’d been making up for a year-long separation. Following Waverly’s lead to the couch across the way, the promise of a level of intimacy Waverly had never known before Nicole. Helping Waverly drop her backpack from her shoulders like nothing, jumping at the heavy thud it made but not breaking the mood.

“Now I think _I’m_ dreaming,” Nicole said against Waverly’s lips. She only smiled, tugged Nicole for a few more steps to the couch and all its delicious promises.

“You better not be,” she said, smiling still.

“Think the others are mad we snuck off?” Nicole looked into Waverly’s eyes.

“Too bad, if they are.” She kissed Nicole once more, added a couple steps in their coded dance, then touched their foreheads together. “I really missed you.”

“I really missed you, too.” They separated, but Nicole held their gazes in a lock. “I told you my immune system was great.”

Waverly rolled her eyes, playfully. “Whatever.”

Her hand snaked into her own pocket, retreating a hesitant moment before plunging in. Revealed Nicole’s ring, passed on by Michael in accordance to family tradition.

“Maybe you’ll get to use this someday, after all. On a _very_ lucky girl.”

Nicole’s hands, on Waverly’s waist, pulled them closer. “Maybe she’ll be the brave type,” she agreed with a kiss, returning their couch route, “can handle herself,” a kiss to emphasize, “super smart, a bit feisty . . .” She didn’t finish, only interested now in kissing her Waverly.

Waverly was smiling where they’d stopped again, reuniting their gaze. She admitted, “There were so many firsts I wanted to have with you.”

A small laugh escaped Nicole, and she agreed, “We haven’t had our first fight yet. Not even a little squabble. Even if it’s only been a couple months.”

“Hey, time moves differently in the apocalypse. I’d count our ‘heroics’ discussions, but who hasn’t had one of those?”

“Rosita. Jeremy. Dolls.”

Waverly’s hands, draped behind Nicole’s neck, fidgeted, as if thinking something over. “We should frame them,” she joked a second later.

Nicole snorted, “Waverly Earp, you’re terrible.”

Waverly was leaning up for a kiss, whispering first, “You love it.”

Nicole hummed as their lips met. “I love it.”

A second kiss, a second feeling of home, and Waverly’s fingers were at Nicole’s belt, popping it open after a short pull. Nicole’s breath hitched, heart skipped a beat. _First time._ She grabbed Waverly’s hands suddenly, gently, shaking her head.

“Wait, Waverly, wait. Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Waverly nodded.

“Yeah?” Nicole smiled.

Waverly was nodding again. “Yeah. Of course. I want you. Only you.”

Another, wider grin found Nicole’s lips. “I want you, too.”

She tilted Waverly’s chin up for a kiss, acutely aware of the couch steps off. She pulled her love in close, feeling without fault what it was to be whole.

-

Waverly tracing nonsense patterns across Nicole’s torso. Waverly, up first, staring and memorizing every part of Nicole, partially unconvinced this wasn’t a dream. They’d stayed on the couch, despite its short length unable to hold Nicole’s long legs. Waverly perched more on her sleeping girl’s side than on the actual couch. Before they nodded off last night they grabbed all the blankets in Waverly’s backpack, a couple from around the trailer, and settled in. _Last night._ Waverly grinned.

Then Nicole was waking slowly, eyeing the place in a confused daze, as if in disbelief of being here at all, then finding Waverly, all the clarity in the world washing over her form immediately.

“Hey you,” Waverly smiled, feeling Nicole stretch under her. Listening to the routine morning popping of her worked bones.

She exhaled long, grinning softly afterwards as she pulled Waverly closer. “Hey, you. Sleep good?”

“Great,” Waverly grinned, even blushed. “I was pretty tired after—Well, you know.”

Nicole’s smile grew. “I _do_ know. I also happen to know you’re a quick study. Sure you haven’t done this before?”

“I had a really good teacher.”

Their lips met, another morning routine, one Waverly couldn’t do without. She interlocked their fingers, stopping a moment. Lifted the layers of blankets back, slowly, and examined the bite on Nicole’s forearm for herself. Healing over, like an ordinary wound. Like Nicole’s shoulder from so long ago or the in-progress bullet graze on Waverly’s own side.

“What _are_ you going to do?” Waverly asked.

“No idea,” Nicole admitted. “I know I should go to the Fireflies, but—”

“But you don’t want to.”

“Stupid, right?” Nicole grimaced.

“No, it’s not stupid. It’s your condition. Your immunity. Your choice. For once, you don’t have to be the big hero.”

Nicole smirked. “Good thing being a hero is off-limits.”

Waverly rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“Whatever you think is right.”

She rested against Nicole’s chest, abandoning her hand for her side in a warm embrace. Nicole was careful in returning the same, aware of Waverly’s injury since she accidentally irritated it the night previous. A mistake she repaid, at least three times over.

“Whatever makes you happy,” Waverly said again.

“Do you think Wynonna’s right?" She looked to Waverly. "They don’t have a guaranteed way to distribute the cure and the whole thing’s a giant gamble?”

“I guess I agree. The military’s always hated the Fireflies, even in Canada. Wherever there’re Fireflies is probably the same story. So you should choose what _you_ want, Nicole, not what everyone else wants.”

“The future’s mine, huh?” She snorted. “That’s an awful lot of power.”

“Yeah, but you got this.”

“It’s a little frustrating, you know.”

“What?”

“I was always afraid of them. Runners, Infected. I never wanted to end up like them. Like Shae. Like all those I’ve lost over the years. Or killed, like Michael. Like Victoria. Turns out I’m immune, and none of that really mattered.”

“Gotta love irony, right?”

“Right. Hey, you know I ran into some on the way here?”

Waverly’s head shot up. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. There was this Runner I passed. Her eyes were missing, like they’d been gouged out or something. She walked _right_ in front of me. Right in my face!”

Waverly was still upright, staring at her. “Jeez.”

“But I didn’t react. I didn’t freak out, think about Shae, think about Michael. I just . . . looked right at her and kept walking, like nothing.”

“Like nothing.” Waverly was in a sort of awe.

“I’d been seeing less of Shae, too. When Victoria died I didn’t see her. Not once. Not on the way here, either. Well, I saw her yesterday, when I thought I was done for. But no fights. I think that might’ve been the last time, too. For good.”

Waverly looked as if she’d seen her own kid take their first steps, pride radiating off her like sun rays. Her hand found Nicole’s cheek, warm. Real. “Baby, that’s great. I am so proud of you.”

“You helped, you know. A lot. You and everyone here.”

“No, that’s all you.”

“If it weren’t for you, I’d still be with Lou. And totally screwed.” She grabbed Waverly’s hand and kissed it, keeping their eyes together. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Waverly Earp.”

Waverly lifted herself, hovering just above Nicole’s lips. “Just take the credit,” she smiled.

Nicole beat her to a kiss. “No. Make me.”

Waverly obliged, snaking down, planting kisses anywhere she could manage. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Nicole Haught.”

“I can take you.” She flipped them, before Waverly could get too low, some blankets falling to the ground. “Easy.”

-

Waverly, like everyone else on the team, jumped at the opportunity to use the working shower in Wynonna’s trailer—complete with heating. Now she _knew_ she was dreaming.

Nicole was slower to get up for the day, having spent the previous scurrying to catch up to her team. She’d counted on the permanent traffic jam of broken, abandoned cars to slow them down and hurry her along. Only to find a local serial killer doing the job instead. Funny, how everything works out.

She joined the Earp sisters later, expecting to find both of them laughing as usual about some old story, but saw only Wynonna, polishing Peacemaker. Here she learned of the shower situation, before Wynonna directed her attention to her backpack, untouched but for the items she gave away. No one had the heart to sort out the rest of her belongings. But everything turned up, so no point.

“Unlike Eliza,” Wynonna added, met with immediate confusion.

“What happened with Eliza?” Nicole was now realizing she hadn’t seen the woman since she rejoined.

So Wynonna gave her further details on yesterday’s events, tried not to beat herself up over Eliza’s death, ending with where they were now. The others, outside, trying everything to bring that SUV back to life. Doc was foraging about the set, because he knew absolutely nothing about cars, only further feeding the conspiracy he _was_ the real Doc Holliday. Most notably, Dolls spent some time last night making a grave for his fallen friend. He’d stared at it for long, unable to move Eliza’s corpse inside until Wynonna lent him some emotional support. Early this morning, too, she found him, in a quiet daze. He announced a service later in the day before jumping right into work on the truck. Nicole felt terrible. She came back, but Eliza wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Ever.

Then the funeral talk was reminding Wynonna to thank Nicole for taking down Jonas. How fulfilling it was to see him fall after all the pain he’d caused her. Then, “And I’m sorry I fucked up. With Tucker. I shouldn’t have shot him.”

Nicole shook her head, because Wynonna was wrong. “No. I‘m glad you did. He was too far gone. There was no way I could’ve talked him down. Besides,” she smiled, assuring, a small shrug to match, “I’m immune.”

Wynonna rolled her eyes at Nicole’s glowing cockiness. “Whatever. What’re you going to do?”

Nicole shrugged. “I have n—”

“Oh my god,” Waverly was sighing, walking in, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this good in my entire life.”

Wynonna’s outright evil smile jumped to her lips. “Oh, so all that ruckus _was_ you two last night.”

Waverly winked, “And this morning.”

Wynonna winced, like she’d been hit. “Okay, gross.”

“Twice,” Nicole added, stealing Wynonna’s smirk.

“Wow,” Wynonna sighed, “I really hate you both.”

Waverly joined them where Wynonna found home on the trailer’s lead actor-sized bed. “What’re we doing today?”

“Well, I was told to sit my ass down,” Wynonna grumbled. They’re still working on the truck, so maybe you two should help Henry look around. Or do whatever you want; it’s kind of a free day. But feel free to keep the details to yourselves. And if you help Doc, don’t get stabbed or blown up or whatever. These pain pills are mine and only mine.”

-

Waverly hung out with Wynonna for a bit as Nicole used the shower, talking about nothing and trying not to think too hard of Eliza’s death, the cruel second wave of realization they could drop at any minute. Waverly and Nicole, later, paid respects to her grave before helping Doc. They spent the day tripping and disabling traps, finding few useful things to swipe. No one would fall victim to this place again. No one would fall victim to the Jack of Knives again. Heading back to catch the funeral, Nicole deemed trap-tripping “an exciting second date”.

-

The snow was easing, clearing the atmosphere like a new day. Calm. Nature’s respect for their loss of Eliza Shapiro.

Jeremy couldn’t forget, in his impromptu speech, the first day he met Eliza. One tour she went home with Dolls, not really living anywhere else. He didn’t mind, and they knew they wouldn’t be home for long otherwise. Jeremy had been excited to meet her, hearing all about her in the letters he made Dolls _swear_ to write, so he invited her to crash their usual boys’ night on Fridays. Or rather, the night they watched movies and got crushed by Jeremy in video games. Mostly, she and Dolls were fascinated by how real the games of the time looked, little amounts of blurred pixels to be found. Against Jeremy’s warnings, the two soldiers played combat-heavy games, lucky to have no negative reaction other than correcting all the technical wrongs virtual soldiers were committing. He remembered how happy Dolls was that night, by her side. Happier than he’d ever seen Dolls. This friendship grew with time, Eliza even helping Jeremy gain a few dates. He was devastated by her and Dolls’s post-Outbreak separation, but damn was he happy he got to see her one last time. Toughest, bravest person he knew, he said.

Doc agreed. How a person could stay sane and calm and so strong in the situation they’d found her in, he found a mystery. She never gave up, even when the universe kept kicking her down. Fighting by her side was the greatest honor, he claimed.

Rosita mirrored, admitting there wasn’t much she knew about Eliza. But never getting to know, only having little snapshots, was a tragedy in itself. Waverly agreed, saying there were many sides to Eliza she’d hope to see one day. But even in their short time together she knew Eliza was a great person, undeserving of this world’s evils. This world’s ultimate punishment.

Nicole said it wasn’t fair. Because, well, it wasn’t. That she had to die, and by the hands of a madman. That she’d never reunite with the Fireflies and make the change she craved. That Nicole was blessed with the opportunity to come back, while Eliza was stuck in the ground.

Wynonna admitted she wasn’t great at these things, and after so many people lost she ought to be. Of all those lost, Eliza was the one she’d regret. Someone unfazed by whatever evil touched her. Someone so grounded in the face of danger. Someone she’d hope to be like one day.

A long silence on Dolls’s turn, last in the circle surrounding a freshly earthed hole in the ground. He could only stare, the final resting place of his closest ally, someone he’d found in the darkest of times again and again, eyeing him back. Dolls wasn’t a man in touch with his feelings. War drained that right out of him. Still, he let the drops fall from his eyes, accept Wynonna’s hand for support.

“The day I met Eliza Shapiro,” he said, “was the day my life changed. I was arrogant and self-absorbed. I thought I was cool because I was a soldier.” He shook his head disapprovingly at the thought. “Then Eliza joined us. She trained with me,” she stopped to laugh, “and she kicked my ass—easily.” His peers joined his laughter. “She taught me the world doesn’t revolve around me, time and time again. She always stood up to me when my methods were unorthodox, and reminded me to use empathy when I’d lost it. She stood up for what she believed in, even if I was in the way. She left me when I was being a cruel shell of a person, focused on surviving and not caring about those around me. Not caring how they were suffering the same. When I was being self-absorbed. But when we found each other again, she welcomed me with open arms. Like nothing happened. I can never repay her friendship, her love. Or thank her enough for always being at my side, even when I was being difficult. If I could take her place, I would. But I can’t, no matter what I do.”

He paused, thinking something over, something that hit him in the moment.

“The most I can do is live my life, and keep her memory alive. Do what _she’d_ want, and fight for humanity, as a Firefly.”

Wynonna eyed his profile. So much for Dolls following the path he’d want. Or, she reconsidered, so much for Dolls joining them in Sanctuary.

He draped Eliza’s firefly pendant over the wood cross protecting her grave. “Follow the light,” he mumbled. Then he backed off, looking on the last of his friend, maybe even the one he hoped to love someday.

-

“You should be resting.”

Wynonna sat beside Dolls in the snow, Eliza’s occupied grave across from them. Some effort to sit properly, not agitate new stitches. More effort to ignore the burning cold. No effort to refuse Dolls’s protests.

“And you shouldn’t be outside in the snow all day,” she shot back, “but here we are.” She gave a small smile. “So,” a brief pause before continuing, “Fireflies?”

Dolls nodded, eyes not leaving his friend’s grave. “Fireflies.”

“Are you sure?” He looked at her, so sudden she feared she was crossing a line. “It’s just, I kind of thought you were set on whatever it was you wanted. Outside of Firefly stuff.”

His gaze returned to the grave, specifically the Firefly pendant dangling, Eliza’s name engraved. “That was before she died. She wanted this, more than anything. She wanted to help people, make a difference, for as long as I’ve known her. After everything she’s done for me, it’s the least I can do. This is about her, not me.” He fished his pendant from under his layers of shirts, the silver shimmering in what parts of the sun shined. “I need to be a Firefly. For her.”

It killed every part of Wynonna to be remotely okay with this. She only nodded, silently, settling closer to Dolls. At first she feared he’d turn her away, but he accepted it, accepted the warmth and understanding she was offering. Together they were peaceful, looking over Eliza Shapiro’s final resting place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this WAY before Waverly and axes became kind of a sensitive subject (that trailer, man, woo). 
> 
> (If you read these two chapters in one sitting, please teach me that level of focus, readthroughs kicked my damn ass.) Lovely readers, thank you again and again and again for your support, the kudos, the comments, your patience, even opening this thing and reading it. Heading into the last two arcs now, definitely less than five chapters left. Then onto the next video game themed AU...
> 
> (If I don't update by next week assume TLOU at E3 killed me)


	24. A King's Grand Fall, Part One: Purgatory

“Dolls, you better have your god damn shit togeth—Whoa, what the hell?”

Dolls and Nicole, in one of the sets, free of any and all types of traps set by the Jack of Knives and his lackey. Sparring, in sweats and tanks, _glistening_ in the light, muscles flexing in all the right places. Nicole dodged a one-two punch from Dolls, side-stepping and hooking a punch of her own into his side. He gave a small laugh, approvingly. He was finding trouble in defeating Nicole, but it was refreshing. Like Eliza hadn’t left.

“Shh, don’t interrupt.”

Waverly was in the doorway already, watching for a while now. Wynonna stopped next to her, joining in a long stare, memorizing anything and everything in their respective interests. She bit her lip as Waverly had been doing for who knows how long now, leaned against the doorframe. Uncaring of winter’s chill, because this was a hot enough sight.

“Oh, I won’t.”

Couple more punches, some fancy kicks, a showy backflip from Dolls. Nicole managed some hits, took some hits. Dolls managed some hits, took some hits. Both made mistakes, learned, tested each other. Tried not to lose themselves in the moment, eager to take home a win. Dolls made a rare fatal mistake, a punch much too messy. Nicole grabbed his stretched arm and pulled him into a strong hold, a strong hold he had to tap out of after every possible tactic for freedom failed. He walked off, panting as Nicole, laughing to himself.

“How’d you get so good?” he asked. Nicole shrugged, like nothing.

“Youngest of three.”

 _Now_ they were noticing the Earps, and now they were both rolling their eyes at the _much_ too satisfied expressions on their faces. Nicole happily walked over to steal a kiss from Waverly. Dolls asked if they needed something. Wynonna shook her head, not able to remember why she came over here in the first place. Waverly stammered for a bit, words not finding the right path to an excuse in taking this deep pleasure a step further.

“I was going to sharpen your machete,” she eventually managed to Nicole, “but I couldn’t find it.”

Wynonna groaned. “Sharpen your machete” was the best her sister could come up with? And great, now she couldn’t look at any damn blades, ever.

Nicole didn’t catch on. “Oh, yeah, it’s just—”

Wynonna groaned again, louder than before. “She wants to fuck, Haught.”

Nicole’s face went red, redder than her hair. Waverly’s head fell into her hands, a small laugh escaping her at her sister’s bluntness.

“But hurry along,” Wynonna sighed, “we’ve gotta go.”

She rolled her eyes next, because Waverly _actually_ took the invitation and dragged Nicole away. _Giggling._ Nicole’s face went redder, and Wynonna shook her head again.

“Horn dogs,” she grumbled.

She turned to Dolls, disappointed to find he’d thrown a shirt over his tight tank top, already shivering from the cold in the unheated building. He dabbed at the sweat on his forehead before resting a towel around his neck.

“We’re not doing this trip,” he said.

Wynonna approached, arms crossed. “We’ve been sleeping in a place designed to kill whimsically, like an evil funhouse. It’ll only take a few hours and Doc said he’ll stay back. If they fix up the truck, they can meet us. If not, it’s pretty close. We can walk back.”

“You’re still healing. You just got your stitches out, and you don’t know what to expect there. We’re not going.”

Wynonna shrugged, as uncaring and unmoved as ever. On the outside. “Relax. I only died, is all.”

She’d certainly been adjusting well, considering. She spent day one after facing off with Jack and losing despite her efforts, drinking it all away. After that she seemed fine. Talked, laughed, hung out with the group, told jokes. Like it never happened. Dolls wondered if this was a good or bad thing, not caring. Getting chased and staring death in the face wasn’t a new concept, not anymore. Still, should be a problem, right?

“You know I’m gonna do it anyway,” she kept pushing. “And I know you won’t ditch us, you big ol’ softy.”

Dolls sighed, because she was right. “Why do I have to go?” he surrendered, done resisting.

“In my professional opinion, being here is bad for you.”

True, the way Dolls was moping around most of the time, passing by Eliza’s grave and sometimes staring at it blankly for much too long. Can’t move on if he’s staring the past in the face, constantly.

She added, “And, you know, one last adventure before we never see each other again.”

Damn was she persuasive, always knew just what to say. Saddened by that thought, Dolls nodded, “Fine. I’ll grab my things.”

She smiled victoriously as he collected his things and walked off. And took a moment to stare at him just a second more. “Great, you go get yourself chest— _dressed_ already.”

Dolls grinned on the way out.

-

Nicole gripped and clawed the couch so hard she feared it would burst like a balloon. Her left hand fidgeted through Waverly’s brown locks, tried not to pull. Well, not _too_ hard, because that woman’s tongue was the devil, and she was the gullible villager.

Nicole cursed, screwed her eyes shut, let off more incoherent syllables, then relaxed. Exhaled, long, as Waverly made her way back up to meet her with a kiss, longer. Then she sat up in Nicole’s lap, fingers tracing over Nicole’s defined torso, careful not to hit those tickle spots.

“You have no business looking _this_ good, Nicole Haught.”

Nicole was still out of breath, but let off a short laugh in her panting. She removed her arm from over her eyes and opened them, finding Waverly, the vision perched above her. “You have no business being _that_ good, Waverly Earp.”

Waverly bit her lip, moved to hover closer to Nicole’s own. “Well, you—”

Waverly nearly collapsed, if not for Nicole and her cop reflexes catching her, when the trailer door suddenly burst open. In stepped Wynonna Earp, hands childishly covering her eyes.

“Clothe yourselves, you addicts, we’re going!”

She opened her eyes slowly, cautiously, to find her sister, only missing one jacket from before, and Nicole, sweating bullets. Not because of the sparring session or the _sparring_ session, but because her girlfriend’s sister, a gun on her waist, burst in mid _session._

“Wow, are you two done already?” was all said sister had to offer. Waverly awkwardly nodded, though not entirely sure why she answered in the first place. Wynonna’s arms crossed. “Huh. Not bad.”

-

The team spent the last couple weeks bumming around Jack’s set. Uncomfortable and weird at first, but eventually the place became homey. Especially after the mutilated corpses were removed and buried respectfully, and Wynonna _respectfully_ burned the jail set and Jack and Reggie’s remains to nothing. Doc gained a new set of throwing knives, something he hadn’t owned since running with Bobo, and Jeremy eagerly took lessons in their use. Dolls coached Waverly further on use of her prized but unused escrima sticks. Each member of the team enjoyed their last few moments together, before they’d reach their destination and part ways forever. Travel was up to the SUV and whether or not it decided to live. So far, no luck. Despite the efforts of three people and loud cursing from Wynonna.

Wynonna knew Purgatory was nearby. If their trip was routed differently, they would’ve passed through it on the way north. But it was Purgatory, the town she hated from day one, with its small-minded folk, its gossip, and all its bad memories. But a nagging urge gnawed at her, demanding she go for a visit. There was no point, no reason, and she sure as hell wasn’t desperate to go home for a nostalgic visit to cry and reminisce about the good times. Because there were, absolutely, no good times. Nothing besides an abusive, alcoholic father. Dumb, drunken choices of her own. Watching that sad expression on Waverly’s face every time she tried to impress Ward with something truly impressive she achieved, to no avail. She deemed it cabin fever, ready to get the hell off the set, before a new reason showed up in Dolls. Best if he got away from Eliza’s accessible grave for a bit. Didn’t have to pass it, stare at it, remind himself he lost a close, good friend, every single day for two weeks now.

So she was here now, her sister by her side, Nicole and Dolls behind them. Wynonna wasn’t excited to go home, or at least the tiny parts of her that were refused to admit it, but Waverly sure was. So Wynonna stopped them, a friendly sign filling their sights.

“Dolls, Haught, welcome to Purgatory.”

Nicole smiled at Waverly’s giddy expression. Dolls nodded, looked around. Impressed, because, despite all opposing odds, Purgatory was beautiful.

They passed the Earp homestead on their expedition, stopped a moment to look it over. Infected, lingering the wide land. Ward’s karma, Wynonna remarked, eyeing his last-minute tombstone in the distance, knocked over by a clumsy Runner. They moved on.

Passed through a small chunk of town, too, avoiding more Clickers and Runners roaming about. Waverly told them how Purgatory used to be in her bubbly attitude, then Wynonna corrected how Purgatory _really_ was with her natural bite. Nine to five jobs all around, an hour to take a load off at Shorty’s, then home. Most people’s schedule, every day. Voices whispered whatever juicy gossip possible, never fully educated of actual events but eager to whisper for the sake of whispering. Alcohol-induced crime here and there. Sometimes the popping of a gun by accident, usually no harm. Different meaning back then.

 The sight and the stories knocked around Nicole’s stance on her immunity and possible vaccine yet again. Said stance was back and forth, all night and all day, never finding even ground. She was a cop, wasn’t she? Supposed to protect the people? She remembered how badly things went down in her city. Foods infected with the Cordyceps virus, already digested by countless people. Cities were hit the hardest, consumed most of those corrupted crops. Then people turned and spread it further. Panic, looting, murder, everyone desperate to get the hell out and go anywhere safer. Too many died, on day one alone. She’d be doing all those people right, and all the people she’d lost right, by getting a cure from the secrets in her own immune system.

But then the selfishness took over. She was finally getting the life she craved in the past eight years alone, one where she found herself among people she loved, found herself the woman she’d love with all her heart. She wanted to hold onto it, not lose it. She just found this life, these people, and peaceful days without danger on her heels was waiting, just a few days away. How could she give that up?

-

Acres and acres of land, snowed over. Few free animals, going about their business. The McCready ranch, untouched by the outside world. By the chaos in Purgatory. Curtis and Gus were kind people, respected, gave a lot to their community. Helped those who needed it, giving away food and opening their door. So it was sensible no one across Purgatory dared disrespect them by ransacking their home. Also helped, when someone did try to break in, when Wynonna decapitated an intruder in front of their looter friends and told anyone willing she’d happily do it again. Team effort.

Waverly excitedly showed Nicole around, recalling the summers she worked here despite Curtis and Gus’s protests, and Nicole excitedly followed and listened, took the whole place in. Waverly remembered having her first time here, with Champ, which ended with Curtis barging in the barn, shotgun loaded. Willa, snickering behind him, because she was the one who told. Waverly could never decide if she was mad at her or found the whole mess hilarious, considering it was Champ she was with, and thus Champ who was threatened.

Dolls and Wynonna walked calmer, more relaxed. Tried to ignore the fact they would be together today, going separate ways tomorrow. Walked slow, as if their pace controlled the flow of time. Maybe they could stretch it for all it was worth.

Dolls broke the long silence first. He stopped himself initially, to clear his dry throat, then carried on. “It’s a lovely home.”

Wynonna only stared at the snow at her boots as they walked. Never thought she’d miss the sight of Curtis’s crops, buried under a thick pale blanket. Or Curtis, for that matter, as nicely as he lectured her on her terrible life choices. “The old company matched.”

Dolls looked down as she did, eyes on the snow. When spring hit he planned to spend every single second outside. And next winter he planned on hibernating. “Why did you bring me here, Wynonna?”

“I wanted to show you something.”

“What?”

She looked up, considering, trying to find the answer in the sky. Then the land before them. Then she shrugged. “I don’t know. I just wanted you to come.”

Dolls snorted. “Okay. Why did _you_ want to come here?”

Considering. Eyes in the sky. Eyes scanning the land. Shrug of the shoulders. “I don’t know. I just wanted to.”

“You wanted to go home, then?”

Why Dolls was so invested in finding the answer was a mystery. To the both of them. Just making conversation, maybe.

“What? No,” she answered. “I hate this place. It’s never _been_ home.”

Just a place of the same, boring old people with their boring old lives and their boring old gossip. Wynonna was different and a troublemaker, so naturally the small-minded small town hated her. So, in respectful return, she hated them back.

“So why come back?” Dolls asked again. “Don’t say it’s for Waverly.”

She dug her hands into her jacket pockets, felt around the flask inside. Michael Haught’s, given to her by Nicole as a parting gift. Nicole insisted she keep it when plans changed, when Wynonna tried to return it. It was empty, because she downed the whole thing the second she spotted that damned “Welcome to Purgatory” sign.

She admitted, “It’s not home, but I do miss it. There were some nice things about here, I guess.”

“Like what?”

Playing tag with Willa. Bundling up a young Waverly in tons of coats so they could all enjoy the snow together. Sneaking out, getting caught with Ward’s whiskey in hand. Meeting Mercedes Gardner, in middle school detention. Watching Waverly succeed academically. How proud of herself she was until Ward ruined it. That smile on Willa’s face the day she got her driver’s license. Spending time with Mama, before she left.

“Hey,” she said, “we’re supposed to talk about your feelings, not mine.”

Dolls snorted again. “Quick answer, then.”

She complied, stopping their steady pace first. Somewhere behind them Waverly and Nicole were messing with Curtis’s old tractor, Waverly making fun of the way Champ used to treat the thing. He thought he was some hotshot race car driver, despite his many speeding tickets and parking violations. And the fact he was a terrible driver.

“I miss getting into trouble with Mercedes. Innocent trouble, not the bad shit I’d do later. I miss that face Shorty made when he caught me stealing beer. I miss being a kid. When I actually got to be. I miss sitting here with Waverly and making fun of Champ. I miss having fun. I miss not running for my life, not worrying about whatever fun new thing wants to kill us. Purgatory’s a dumpster town, but damn I miss it. The good parts of it.”

She looked to Dolls, who was smiling sympathetically.

“That wasn’t a short answer, sorry.”

He shook his head, quickly. “No, it was perfect. And now I _know_ I’m boring, because I never had nearly that much fun. Sneaking out and all that, I mean.”

Wynonna grinned back, resumed their walk. “It’s never too late to steal someone’s beer. I steal Doc’s flask like eight times a week just for kicks. He’s never noticed. And if he has, he’s never said anything.”

Doc _always_ noticed.

Dolls was smiling again, small. “The last time I stole someone’s beer, I started a bar fight.” His smile died off, fading as the sun in the sky now. “That was the first night I talked to Eliza.” _Talked,_ in a real conversation, without military business.

A pause in their chat, a sadness in the air. They’d talked about Eliza before, in the two weeks that’d gone by, but they all ended the same, with Dolls closing off or changing the subject.

“Curtis had a cool shooting range out back,” Wynonna tried. “Handmade, like a real redneck. Wanna take a look?”

Dolls’s eyes were stuck on the ground. “Sure.”

-

The rig was simple, about what Dolls expected. Right behind the house, buried in snow, were hay bales, stacked high, paper targets nailed into them. A scarecrow at the end, where the farmland began, clearly shot a few times. He assumed it was by accident, until Wynonna looked at the thing and laughed. He should’ve known she was responsible.

Her laugh turned into a happy gasp, at the sight of old paintball guns sitting around. Snow covered them in high piles, but she saw a muzzle sticking out, unmistakable, and uncovered all four of them.

“The day of the Outbreak,” she explained, “we all came here to watch movies. Everyone but Daddy and Bobo; they were working. But Gus fell asleep, so Curtis pulled these old things out. He was never patient enough to sit through movies.” She stroked the one in her hands, a nostalgic gleam in her eye. “Gus was mad we left her, so she shot at us from the porch.” She sighed, and the happy light died. “Then we went to Shorty’s, and everything went to shit.”

Dolls picked up one of the guns, shook off flakes of snow. Inspected the thing. Empty, but still in good shape. Made to last. Like some things here.

“I might not be as great as your Uncle Curtis,” he said, “but I’ll gladly take you for round two.”

Wynonna’s eyes widened, her jaw dropping in the purest of smiles. “I’ll get the paints, you go get Waverly.”

She ran for the house, saying something about shooting cops for free. Dolls chuckled, at the sight of Wynonna “I Don’t Run” Earp sprinting inside, amped up to shoot her friends with paint. He stared, sighed. Damn, he’d miss her.

Waverly was just as excited, immediately moving hay bales to make cover. When Wynonna returned, she reminded her younger sister not to cheat, not to hide where she got hit and claim she went untagged. A tactic she stole from Willa when they were younger. Now it made sense why Waverly didn’t care for Jeremy’s counting cards in poker: she did the same thing, when she was younger.

They broke off into teams: Earps versus the law. Whichever team was more soaked by the end of everyone’s collective clips lost. Simple. All four hugged cover at first, the law more trained than the Earps, popping up and down crisply, moving on trained boots. Earps were looser in their movements, took more risks. Spent more time leaned above cover, had riskier timing.

Eventually they circled around closer to Dolls and Nicole’s space. When Nicole jumped up to shoot, Waverly threw on her best pout, pleading, “You wouldn’t shoot me, would you, babe?”

Nicole cursed, and Wynonna shot her point-blank.

“That classifies as cheating!” Dolls called, still ducked. He pushed his gun over his bale and blasted at the sisters, until they ran for the nearest cover.

Nicole surged up as they scurried, managed a couple shots in Wynonna’s back. When Wynonna asked Waverly to do her “thing” again, Nicole, aiming their direction at her full height, promised not to fall for it again. So Wynonna shot her in the chest.

Team Law split. The Earps were barely touched, clips were starting to run dry. Last chance to make the win. Wynonna managed to trail Dolls and had Team Earp do the same.

Somehow Nicole outsmarted Waverly’s element of surprise, and somewhere along the way lost her gun when she tackled Waverly playfully. She tried to steal the tool off Waverly, but couldn’t quite manage, only getting slathered further in orange paint. Then, as Wynonna’d find in a moment, everything turned into a make out session.

For now, Wynonna was getting the angle on Dolls. She threw a snowball elsewhere to catch his attention, stifled excited laughter as he moved towards it. She popped up from nowhere and soaked him in coats and coats of blues, Dolls managing a couple shots of his own. Then Wynonna was cheering, laughing, dancing, throwing her gun down victoriously, at the sight of a very blue, very defeated Dolls. He tried to be upset, but chuckled along, let her celebrate.

-

Inside, they realized how little they all thought this through. No one packed heavy, as insisted by Jeremy to make their trip easier, including clothes. Mostly, they brought food, water, ammo, and a couple of the extra handguns. Waverly revealed she brought extra clothes for both Wynonna and Nicole, as well as herself. Called them irresponsible, too.

Wynonna quickly swapped shirts and jackets, going back to her old fringed leather from Willa, and led Dolls upstairs. He was about Curtis’s size, maybe a bit bigger. She jokingly gave him some flannel, before deeming the cowboy look for Doc and Doc only. Instead she handed over a long sleeve shirt, plain. A little more his style. Maybe too short on the sleeves, but it’d do for now.

“I know I was against this trip,” he said, pulling his jacket and backpack back on, “but I’m really glad we did this. I’m glad this is the last thing we’ll do together.”

“Yeah.” Wynonna’s small smile, overshadowed by a stronger frown, and overall tone were a clear indication how she felt about that. She wanted firsts, not lasts. For once.

Dolls caught her expression. “I really wish it wasn’t,” he tried. He slung his long guns over his shoulders and stepped closer. “I want to go with you, I do, but I need to do this. For Eliza. It’s what she really wanted, and it’s the least I can do for her. I mean, the only reason she’s dead is because of me.”

“ _You_ shot her? That’s funny, ‘cause I thought Reggie was the asshole did the deed.”

Dolls appreciated the effort, but wasn’t totally moved. “If I didn’t take the easy way out—the lazy way out, we would’ve gone somewhere else. Somewhere safer.”

“Come on, dude, there’s no way you could’ve known that. And the shithead probably had everywhere possible rigged within a few miles of the place.”

He insisted on the blame, “You got hurt, too.”

Wynonna’s eyes narrowed. “I fell in the shower this morning, Dolls. I get hurt all the time. Jack’s not special.”

Dolls gave a small laugh, one that certainly lightened him up. Wynonna grinned at that.

“You’re not mad, are you?” he asked. “That I’m leaving?”

“Morning hunts will suck,” she answered. Assuming she’d have to hunt. No way that SUV was going to work again. They’d probably have to walk the rest of the way to Sanctuary. “I am super bummed, but if it’s what you want, it’s what you want. Who am I to change that?”

“Probably the only person who can,” Dolls mumbled. Said it subconsciously, barely realized he even said it at all. Wasn’t aware this was true, until he heard it, felt it, in the air.

His eyes trailed up from where they studied the floor’s rich wood, dusted over but somehow still shining beautifully. He found Wynonna, staring up at him. Leaning up. So he leaned down, followed as her eyes closed.

And jumped, at the sound of something crashing downstairs.

The pair raced down, to find Waverly and Nicole, frozen before a closet, piles of guns collapsed against the floor from the inside. Waverly suddenly pointed to Nicole.

“She did it!”

-

“You did a pretty good job.”

The Earp sisters, overlooking the shared grave of Curtis McCready and Gus Gibson, dug by Wynonna Earp. Curtis’s tomatoes, out of season, waiting ahead to bloom. Dolls and Nicole stayed inside, sorting out those guns. Mostly handguns, shotguns, a couple rifles. None were automatic, because Curtis never believed in automatic weapons. Too cruel. But then, so was this world.

“Amazing what a girl can do sober,” Wynonna said, bringing a beer to her lips.

“They didn’t leave a note or anything?” Waverly asked, eyes still fixed on the final resting place of her aunt and uncle, bound by love and not blood. She wondered if they knew, too. Would they have told her?

“Nope,” Wynonna answered truthfully. “Must’ve been a rushed job.”

Waverly was quiet a moment, a sad longing in her eyes. Curtis and Gus loved her best, and she never got to say goodbye until now, eight years after their deaths. And even after eight long years she couldn’t believe they were gone.

“Or they thought we left,” she said. “And wouldn’t see them again.”

Wynonna considered with a nod. Waverly looked to her profile, appreciative smile on her lips.

“It was really sweet of you to do this. Bury them, leave them with your necklace.”

Wynonna took her sister out here, to the grave, and told the story. Told her how she found their remaining family, and about the necklace and its good luck charms. A small token of her gratitude, even if she, Gus, and Curtis didn’t always find even ground.

“They didn’t deserve it,” Wynonna sighed. She drank again. “Any of it. Neither did Shorty.”

Wynonna remembered finding Shorty days after the Outbreak, dead behind his own bar. Killed himself the same. The place was too busy for her to give him a grand funeral, no matter how much she wanted to. Other than Mercedes, Shorty was her only real friend in Purgatory.

“Do you think they would’ve done things different?” Waverly asked, eyes returning to the grave. Wynonna shrugged.

“Probably. But Gus and Curtis probably would’ve fought the whole time. Willa, too, because Curtis didn’t like her, whether he’d admit it or not.”

“That’s because she didn’t like me.”

Wynonna looked at her. Not as a warning, but Waverly still apologized. Wynonna liked Willa, so she tried to be respectful. A difficult feat, indeed.

“I guess it’s good they’re not here,” Wynonna said. “Anywhere’s better than here, right?”

“I bet they would’ve gone to Sanctuary. When Mama asked, not eight years later.”

Wynonna laughed to herself, drank again. “A good old fashioned Gibson sisters fight. I would _pay_ to see that.”

Waverly looked to her sister. “Mama and Aunt Gus fought a lot?”

Wynonna’s eyes were on the grave again, unmoving. “Lots. Over stupid things. Small things.”

Waverly nodded, returned her sights to her buried aunt and uncle. “Well, they say people fight like that because they care.”

Wynonna snorted. “Then Doc and Dolls are soulmates.”

True, the boys hadn’t gotten into any big squabbles, but ever since the team ended up staying at the western set they’d been at each other’s throats. Scolding Dolls for not cleaning an animal right. Scolding Doc for leaving his knives on the ground after practicing. Scolding Doc for bringing one of the stray horses on the set, fully intending to keep it. Made for great entertainment.

She said again, “If Haught starts a fight with you, I’ll be on her like awkward on a Jeremy.”

“I don’t think we’ve gotten that far yet,” Waverly smiled. “Maybe once things settle down.”

“I’m really happy she’s okay.” She patted her sister’s shoulder, pulled her in close. “You look happy, too, baby girl.”

Waverly thought to mention the ring still sitting in Nicole’s pocket, awaiting that fateful day, that grand purpose. But then she stopped herself. She and Nicole hadn’t really discussed it since Nicole came back. Since she came back, with all the privacy, they hadn’t been doing much talking. Now probably wasn’t the time, but they couldn’t ignore it forever.

“I really feel like she’s the one,” Waverly said instead.

Wynonna looked her, pride in her eyes. She always wished her sister would end up with someone, anyone, who wasn’t Champ Hardy. Someone who saw Waverly for the great person she is. But Waverly finding Nicole was really something else. Nicole was on the complete opposite end of the spectrum from Champ. Not only was she better, she was _perfect._

“That’s great, Waves. I’m really happy for you.”

-

They were supposed to leave long before the sun set, but found themselves distracted when Wynonna discovered the more expensive alcohol in Curtis’s collection. The ones for special occasions. Not being dead so far was the most special of occasions so she stuffed all of them into her backpack, first stopping her peers to have a moment and drink, together. Felt wrong without their missing members, but relaxing nonetheless.

Then, as things started to wind down, Nicole pulled Wynonna outside. Drummed her fingers nervously against her thighs, paced around on the porch. Didn’t say anything, until Wynonna, eyebrow raised, asked what was going on.

“I wanted to ask for your blessing,” Nicole blurted, wound tighter than Wynonna’d ever seen her.

Eyebrow still raised, Wynonna asked again, “For what?”

Showing was better than telling. Nicole pulled the ring from her pocket, letting it shine in the last light of the day. Wynonna didn’t react, at least not on the outside. Did she not get it?

So, nervously, Nicole and her tapping fingers explained the family tradition. How she was excluded, how Michael kept the tradition alive. How she got the thing back from Victoria, of all people. Still, no reaction. Not on the outside. On the inside, Wynonna’s mind was running up and down. If she wasn’t convinced of Nicole’s dedication before, she sure as hell was now.

“I mean,” Nicole was going on, “I won’t ask her now, because now is probably way too early and that’s insane. I’m asking for someday, down the line.”

Still no reaction, like Wynonna was frozen. So Nicole continued her anxious rambling.

“I didn’t know who to ask. You know, you or your mother. I should probably ask Michelle, right? I’m gonna ask Michelle.”

Wynonna finally burst to life, stopping Nicole in her awkward path back into the house, to forget all this. “Hey, no. _I’m_ the one who’s here. I’m the one who’s _been_ here.” She cleared her throat. “So, um, thanks for asking.”

Wynonna wasn’t really sure what to do here, what to say. Neither was Nicole. None of Nicole’s previous relationships had gotten this serious, and the one person she married was in a drunken mistake. She never actually met Shae’s parents, either. Whereas Wynonna was totally lost. Her hometown was small, where everybody knew everything about everybody, secrets and all. Or, rather, what they thought they knew and saw. Never really any need to meet the parents, because the parents already knew what they needed. Knew whether or not their kid should be seeing the rowdy boy down the street. Never mind getting to give the blessing herself. Yes, she preferred this over Nicole going to Ward Earp of all people, or Michelle after only knowing her for a few months or weeks, but it was still weird, new. And Nicole was her friend, so double weird. Didn’t really hit her how the whole relationship thing with Nicole and Waverly would go until right now, with that ring. The promise it brought.

She shook her head to bring herself back to reality. Because she knew the answer, whether or not this was out of the blue, new, weird, whatever. Because she knew, of all the people on the planet, the ones she’d passed on her travels, the ones she stole from and hustled, the many she hated, the few she liked, there was only one person for Waverly Earp.

“Of course, Haught.” She sipped at Curtis’s expensive whiskey, walked off. “I told you there’s room in this family, didn’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, apologizes for taking so dang long. With less than ten days (!) until season three's early release, I am trying my ass off to get this AU finished beforehand. Don't really want to be caught up in an AU when our favorite shitshow's back, right? No promises, though, because I still have A LOT left. Fingers crossed...


	25. A King's Grand Fall, Part Two: Mucking Through the Mud

“Man, fuck these guys.”

Wynonna slapped her palm repeatedly against the bottom of her flickering flashlight, squeezing out every last drop of energy. They were so close to her goal she didn’t bother with extra batteries. And now, trapped in this muggy, smelly, cramped old place, she needed the light more than ever. She was so distracted with trying to fix the thing she didn’t even make a single Firefly pun, perfect for their current, dark environment. Dolls wasn’t sure if he missed it or if he was relieved. Right now, things were too stressful to debate.

Their pace hastened in this place, boots kicking up small ponds of water and tossing scattering bugs aside. Their lights mostly uncovered darkened halls, but sometimes light seeped in from above. Above was the place Dolls and Jeremy sought, specifically a three-story hospital in the larger city. All of it, from spacious office buildings to crappy, overpriced apartments to the concrete sidewalks themselves, crushed.

Bombed to nothing. Buildings, stacked on one another. Homes a sad wooden pile on the ground. Light poles bent and twisted into nothing. The sight of Nicole’s town, but to extremes. At least in her town there was something leftover, a clear indication of what was there before, some buildings left standing. Not the case here. There was nothing, nothing but high stacks of wood and concrete.

Total disappointment, given they’d walked all this way on foot. As declared by deep examination by Jeremy and Rosita, and a short, uneducated, but good enough glance by Doc, the SUV was dead, forever. Up in the heavens, with all the other great people they’d lost. Probably badmouthing the Earps and their incredible knack for destruction.

Wynonna was healed up, the team was in great shape by now, and they had some expensive alcohol to burn off, so walking was practically no problem. Dolls and Jeremy’s destination was only a few days away. Plenty of time left to talk, laugh, drink way too much, and totally ignore the growing pit in stomachs on the subject of their team about to split for good. Whether it was just two members or half the team, it was too many numbers already. They’d lost Eliza, and that was more than enough so far.

They continued through the mass destruction. Saw bodies stuck under rubble, remains cut and crushed and charred beyond recognition. Dolls spent the time trying not to freak out, while Jeremy bit his fingernails down to stubs. No telling where the Fireflies here had gone, or if they survived at all. Dolls gave himself a goal to focus on. The best way to battle his troubles, he learned. Wynonna could relate.

They fought through the mess to the hospital’s remains, to poke about for clues. See if there was a lead to follow, or if Dolls and Jeremy needed to completely turn around, join up with those Dolls met at that mall.

Most of the bodies, under rubble and dead on parts of pavement somehow clear, were Clickers. Rosita recalled the United States bombed all sorts of towns like this, the ones too infested and thus too far gone. Seemed like the only real way. Of course, it wasn’t. It was just the easy way.

With all the climbing, lifting, crawling, ankles stuck in wooden crap, Dolls would’ve hoped to find something worthwhile in the remains of the hospital, in its exposed halls and half-crushed rooms. Nothing, in the parts they could access. Just dead Fireflies and their weapons, a couple of fully-loaded assault rifles without owners. Some extra ammo, too. Heavier weapons and valuable medical tools left behind—clearly they retreated in a hurry. Definitely related to the bombing. But was it recent, or long ago? Bodies were fresh, according to Jeremy. About a week or so. They could’ve been here for this. Good thing, because they weren’t caught in it. Bad thing, because they had no idea where to go now.

Dolls opted to press on. Maybe they’d find a trail or something for Doc to track. Maybe they wouldn’t end up where they were now, trudging underground to save their best tracker’s clumsy ass. Dolls passed off the three rifles to Nicole and Rosita. One was supposed to go to Doc, but he reminded everyone of his borrowed gun philosophy and refused. Rosita and Nicole were already carrying the SMG from Perry and Eliza’s machine pistol. Nicole passed the pistol off to Wynonna, Rosita returned the SMG to Jeremy, the owner before her. Now Nicole had two long guns, Rosita three. Thankfully, for Rosita, this trip was almost done and she’d get to rest her weary shoulders for long. That was the dream, anyway.

Doc wasn’t quite sure where to go. Here and there he thought he had something to track, but came up short. His eyes returned ahead from the ground, as he told Dolls his best, educated guess. Big mistake. He recalled Fireflies were nearby, if Jeremy’s observation about fresh bodies was true. Probably regrouping, figuring out what to do. Maybe even travelling back to that mall or looking for a new place.

Trouble hit mid-sentence, while joking the Fireflies found an invisibility serum instead of the cure to the Cordyceps. Doc fell, right through the ground. An open sewer grate, with closer inspection. Doc’s worst nightmare: enclosed, underground space. A detail only Dolls was aware of, until he’d enlighten the rest of the team, too, hence their current, quick pace.

He was the first to yell down to the cowboy, already at his side when it happened, but now terrified for the man and his claustrophobia.

“Henry, are you okay?”

Doc’s head raised, before weakly falling. He coughed a confirmation, stuck a thumb up. He landed on his leg, hard. His shoulder and side, too. The sight brought back a ghost aching of Waverly’s now healed-over graze.

“Leg’s bent up,” Doc gasped again after a moment, “but all’s good.”

He sat himself upright, keeping his eyes above and not around the enclosed space around him. His hand clawed around for his hat, dumping the thing back on his head once he’d found it.

“I’ll find you a ladder or something!” Wynonna called. She and Jeremy rushed around, searching desperately for a ladder or a crate or anything to help the man up.

Gunfire. Second step in bringing the team to where they were now.

They froze. Darted back to the hole in the earth, to find Doc, pistols drawing, backing up. Dolls asked, but no answer. Doc kept inching backward, so the team drew their weapons. Mostly the new fancy new assault rifles. There was ammo to spare. And sewers were notorious for inhabiting all sorts of monsters.

Said monsters, in the form of uninfected humans, were circling Doc. Warning him and the team to drop their weapons, drop the notion they could overpower these sewer dwellers. Then again, there were a lot of odds this team had beaten so far.

“You want him, come get him,” was the only sign of compromise, from a square-faced man, as these people dragged Doc off. Cowboy tried to beckon them to leave him, but even he knew his request would go ignored. Just not the Team Earp style.

They jumped down together, six pairs of feet landing in unison, and headed out to follow these people. Good to know even under the surface there was something trying to kill them. Here, rushing along, Dolls revealed Doc’s phobia. Power walking turned to jogging.

The halls were long, winding, plenty of trick paths with dirty old sewer water pouring in and smelling the joint up. For the most part they followed along, trampling over each other to get to Doc faster. Wynonna knew it probably wasn’t her business, but why the hell didn’t Doc tell them? Tell her? They took a _lot_ of small paths, no different from this. Well, smelled much better. Was he worried they’d see him as weak? Even if someone did, who would dare tick off a person with Doc’s draw speed?

-

In time they caught up, evidenced by two men, classic intimidating height, waiting by double doors. Both knocked twice when the team arrived, and the square-faced man returned, a muscular woman at his side. Dolls, as usual, started the negotiations first.

“We’re here—”

The man stopped with a raised palm. Indicated his partner. “Cujo.” Indicated himself. “Jaxon.” Indicated the team.

“Super annoyed crazy chick,” Wynonna answered. “Where’s Henry?”

Jaxon didn’t look amused, neither did Cujo. He motioned the men by the door. Both raised their rifles, opening the door first. Moved the team along.

They passed through this place. More winding paths carved between solid concrete. Regular-looking people, going about their business. Some cooked. Some did laundry. A couple scolded their teenagers, ironically, about stealing. Children were running back and forth, playing tag, playing soccer. All stopping their playtime to stare at the team like they were convicts. Adults clutched guns on their waists, glared sharply. They had no right to be upset—they were the ones who took Doc!

Jaxon stopped them at the end of the much-too-long tunnel. Two more guys joined in, just as tall, just as unnecessarily angry, just as armed. Another double door awaited, and if Waverly wasn’t holding her back, Wynonna would’ve thrown Jaxon right through them.

“What the hell is this?” Wynonna asked instead.

“This,” Jaxon said, annoyingly calm, hands folded in front of him, “is your ticket back to your friend.”

“What is it you want with us, exactly?” Rosita asked.

No answer.

“We haven’t done anything to you,” Dolls said, stern.

“Let us know what we can do for you,” Nicole offered carefully, “and we’ll all be on our way. No trouble. We’ll take our friend and leave.”

Dolls was in charge, definitely, and while Nicole was the better negotiator, she usually let him handle things. He was in charge, and had a better habit of getting right to the point. But she knew just when to step in when Dolls needed help. And right now Dolls was beyond frustrated, on track to blow this all.

Jaxon grinned. “That’s better.”

One thing always led to another. The United States military, leading their country over clueless politicians and bureaucrats, was pushing, in what little contact they had, other countries to follow their lead in destroying all Infected. To keep the people safe. Few countries followed, some already using this practice, while others were still looking for a cure. Canada didn’t adopt the violent practice, using what was left of their resources to help the world return to normal. Finally, with enough pushing and death tolls rising, they were persuaded. And others followed. The US helped bomb those towns deemed lost, one of which including the town above the team. The town where Fireflies were squatting, along with these sewer people.

Jaxon’s people settled in the sewers long ago. Turned it into a home, safe from the Infected infestation above. Before they lost everything and a large chunk of their group, they were kind people, caring, giving. Then a certain man passed through. He was alone, but did more damage than one person should’ve been capable of. He sought the Fireflies, and Jaxon’s people were helpful in directing him to the hospital, when it still stood. Despite their generosity, he tried to steal from them. Killed a couple of them, before he was stopped. They took his things but spared him. Mistake. The last of their kindness.

He returned. Slit more throats. Stole his things back, as well as some of theirs. In his revenge he torched half of their food, and ran along to the forbidden portion of their space, the portion completely consumed in spores and countless more Infected inside. He dumped their things here, kept the better weapons for himself, some of their food, and left. He got his wish and joined the Fireflies, and if he was lucky he joined them in retreating to a trailer park just out of town.

All while donning a Mohawk and a fur coat.

There was something about his chaotic energy, something that had Jaxon convinced he cursed the town and brought on the bombing. It happened two days after he arrived, and before the drones showed up parts of the hospital exploded. But he thought nothing of it. The man was crazy, right?

The proposal, to get Doc back and let him leave this place, was to cross into the spores section, grab the stolen weapons, and return them. Then they’d be free, to advance to the trailer park and to Sanctuary. Play cleanup for Bobo Del Rey.

No other choice. Jaxon didn’t care for the team’s own collection of weapons. They were outnumbered and didn’t know where Doc was being held. They could do this, fast. Grab Doc, move on. One last hurrah. They’d been through worse, right?

-

Things started with a brief freak-out, when Nicole decided to blindly test a theory and suddenly removed her gas mask in the middle of the spores section. Jeremy shrieked, Waverly practically dove to stop her, and Wynonna’s eyes nearly fell from their sockets.

But nothing happened, because nothing _could_ happen. Nicole was already infected, technically, so inhaling the fungal spores did nothing to her. After both the Earps smacked her, she cheered. Always hated wearing the stupid mask. Turns out she never needed it.

And turns out there was a small crack in it, probably not recent. She cursed her shit luck.

They moved swiftly after this, carefully downing roaming Clickers and transitioning Stalkers with knives and chokeholds. Moved as a (clumsy) unit, hardly needing words to know who would handle what. And Nicole had none of her senses dimmed, so they flew right along. They’d be out of here in no time.

And perhaps look into Bobo Del Rey’s likely return.

The Earps discussed it together, lagging behind the team. Dolls and Nicole were moving too fast, anyway.

“What do you make of Bobo being back?” Waverly asked. Her hushed volume was cancelled by the echo of the mask, and further, the echo of this tunnel. “Do you really think it’s him?”

“No other idiot sports that horrendous fur coat and ‘hawk combo,” Wynonna replied. “And if they do, I’d like to meet and shoot them, now.”

“Do you think he really bombed the town?” She noticed Dolls’s fingers twitch at that. No way he was okay with any of this.

They stepped through a rushing stream of water, pouring downward. Tried not to think about what filth was mixed in with it.

“With Bobo,” Wynonna said, cutting through a doorway as the others, “anything’s possible. But he’s by himself, so no way.”

“I hope so. He ca—”

Dolls pulled a lever of some sort, and here their steady flow broke like the fragile miracle it was. His intention was to open the nearby door in front of them, wide enough to be its own wall, get out of the rising sludge they’d have to trudge through. The door opened, but another, identical one slammed down behind him and Nicole, separating them from the team. Jeremy called for Dolls, and Wynonna swore.

Both sides approached, peeking through slits in the metal. Dolls apologized. Wynonna thanked him sarcastically for giving her a heart attack. All six of them combined their efforts, but the damn thing wouldn’t budge.

Time was limited, evidenced by multiple croaks inbound. Stalkers, on Dolls and Nicole’s side. More incoming. Dolls shot the closest down, and Nicole pointed a route to run. He yelled on the move, before the tunnel could swallow his words, for the remaining four to press on. Maybe another tunnel would reconnect them down the way. Or maybe they’d find those stupid weapons first, figure the rest later.

Not far for the four to go for now, other than swimming right into a channel of literal crap, and heading through that way. Right now the best way was climbing up a ledge and using it to walk alongside that channel. The raised walkway ended back into a tunnel to the left of the one spitting out water and other substances.

One problem: ledge was too high. Doc was gone, probably having his fourth panic attack by now. Dolls and Nicole were running for their lives. All on their long legs. Wynonna and Jeremy were about their size, but not quite. They were at least taller than Waverly and Rosita, who were certainly nowhere near.

Wynonna climbed awkwardly on Jeremy’s outstretched hands, accidentally knocked him in the head with her foot, watching him grimace when her muddy boot met his shoulder and his favorite jacket. Not tall enough, so she stood fully on his shoulders, worsening the pressure when she tried jumping for it. Jeremy’s legs gave when she propelled herself upward, leaving her dangling, fingers latching onto the edge above.

“God damn it, Jeremy, do some more pushups!”

Waverly and Rosita rushed over to help, Rosita directing Waverly to help Jeremy up before lifting Wynonna the rest of the way. Rosita had Wynonna up most of the way, greatly relieving her straining arms, when Waverly arrived to help. She and Waverly pushed with different strengths, so when Wynonna _did_ finally make it over she did so lopsided. She stood, looked down on her peers after struggling to find footing.

“I’m sorry I crushed your shoulders,” she pointed to Jeremy, “but try some friggin’ protein, dude!” Pointing to Waverly, “You are always joined at Nicole’s hip. Keep it that way; she’s tall.” Pointing to Rosita, “You are my favorite person.”

She explored the concrete block above, searching for something to provide a boost for her mates. Jeremy happily took the free time to splash clean water over his muddy shoulders. Waverly snorted, because she didn’t paint him much of a clean freak.

Wynonna tossed down a ladder, already conveniently waiting for use at the top. Maybe the current Infected chasing Dolls and Nicole used to live here, as Jaxon’s people did. Hopefully they weren’t assholes, like Jaxon and his people.

At the top Wynonna patted Jeremy’s back appreciatively. He tried to make a comic reference in good faith, but failed miserably. Still, she nodded appreciatively. It was the thought that counted. And maybe, lately, he did feel a little like Hawkman.

-

Nicole pulled Dolls back around the corner, the second a stray brick flew from his hand. They watched the last of their foes, confused, run off to chase the sound. Made their quick exit, running back into the hall and continuing down the tunnel. No runoff on this end, so they passed through no problem. Clearly it was designed this way, built feet under the walkway to their right. If it water was running, it probably would’ve pushed those Infected elsewhere.

They continued on, silent. Neither were the talkative type in these types of situations. Dolls was cautious to tuck his Glock away, but Nicole was a bit looser in the aspect. Felt a bit confident these days.

She left the buckle on her holster open, for faster retrieval. Glanced to the one on Dolls’s hip. When she returned he gave back her parting gift of her holster and pistol, all the good and all the bad it’d done over the years. She planned to re-gift, but he promised her friendship was enough. They might not’ve hung out much, but they could always count on each other. An aspect quickly going extinct by the minute.

Spores were thickest here, erupting in clouded blasts by the dead Clicker responsible for corrupting this section. Fungal growth erupted from its caged-in corpse, spreading the virus in place of the late host. Not new, but still something they didn’t see often, only in cut off and enclosed spaces like this. Jaxon’s group probably kept sewer entrances open to prevent spores from spreading to them. The door the team entered through was sealed tight, and on top of that found a wall of barricades. Nicole wondered if they should open the manholes here, too. It’d be the kind thing to do. The right thing to do. Sure, they took Doc, but there were families here. Children. Then she was ignoring the feeling. They weren’t here to help. Just get the guns, get Doc, get out. It felt wrong, and she wrestled with the cure idea again. If things went back to normal, these types of unsavory scenarios wouldn’t happen anymore.

The selfish nagging hit again. She’d have normalcy in Sanctuary. _She_ could, but not the rest of the world. Of course she felt bad, dirty. But when she thought of living there, with Waverly, meeting Michelle, her mind was made.

“Let’s head up.”

Nicole’s thoughts broke, and she found a pool of water staring back at her, glimmering in her flashlight. Somehow a part of the tunnel cracked on its own and moving water pouring from who knows where to who knows where filled the hole. Maybe something fell from the bombing, broke the concrete. Maybe broke a pipe, too. With the frantic way it was running on the other side, had to be the case.

She joined him by a raised ledge, a small crate giving some height but not quite enough. He bridged his fingers together, got ready to lift. Nicole grinned at him, and remembered what he intended his last words to be to her.

“Good thing I’m tall,” she snickered.

His stance faltered, a worried look grew under his mask.

“I’m sorry that’s all I said,” he began, “I c—”

Nicole shushed him before he could ramble on, motioning him to resume boosting her up. She reached the ledge no problem, and immediately leaned over to help pull him up. He tossed up his guns and backpack first to make things smoother. Mostly handguns and the alcohol both Wynonna and Doc didn’t have room for in his pack. He wasn’t sure why he agreed to help haul it.

“I know what you meant,” she strained as she pulled him up.

He jumped first, and right away he trusted her to uphold his full body weight. He helped her best he could, kicking at the concrete wall and gripping the ledge to pull himself over. At the top, Nicole patted his back.

“I was just messing with you,” she promised.

He nodded, some guilt present still, and Nicole handed over his stuff.

“I shouldn’t have said it,” he insisted. “There are a lot of things you—”

“Dolls, really, I don’t mind. I know what you meant. I’m glad we’re in this together.”

They continued on, Dolls throwing his flamethrower and assault rifle back on.

“You’re cool for a Firefly, though,” she added. “From what I’ve heard, they’re mostly stuck-up jerks.”

Dolls snorted, because she was right.

“Have you decided yet?” he asked after a minute. Nicole shook her head.

“Yes and no,” she sighed.

He was right there with her. “It’s okay to choose the Earps. Wouldn’t blame you. I know how much you love Waverly.”

She didn’t fight a grin. Her fingers ran over the ring in her pocket. “More than anything in the world.”

-

“Maybe he wants in on Sanctuary?”

Wynonna was stuck on Rosita’s theory. By now the two non-Earps pitched in on her and Waverly’s “why the hell is Bobo here” theories. Wynonna thought it was because Bobo was bitter, with nothing else to do. Waverly remembered Bobo was determined to keep his word to Ward, to keep them safe. Willa dying might’ve brought this to further extremes. Jeremy joked Doc stole one of his coats, but didn’t quite say it as a joke. So Wynonna teased his poor pitch.

But Rosita had a point. Waverly was definitely correct, too, but what if he wanted to join them? What if he was so desperate to keep his promise he agreed to let them have their way? Doc said his men left him, decided to settle instead of chase the Earps. He had no other options, right?

Then Rosita suggested Doc was in with him. But as quick as she said it, she took it back. She knew Doc. He wouldn’t make a deal like that. He fought with the team, for the team. Trying to sacrifice himself in the Perley sisters’ town was proof of that. He shed a tear for Nicole, another for Eliza. Hustler or not, he was authentic. And, the way he argued with Dolls, not one to follow another man’s lead, even if it’s for his own benefits. So she apologized, namely to Wynonna.

“I know what he means to you,” she finished. “And you two have a thing. Or something.”

Was she telling, or _asking?_

“Only one thing,” Wynonna said, “two or three times.”

And almost one more time, after losing to the Jack of Knives. But she’d stopped herself before anything could happen. She couldn’t screw Doc while thinking about Dolls, even if it might’ve helped her Jack-related nightmares. For once, she decided not to drink or fuck her problems away. Well, by then she was a _little_ buzzed. Instead she talked all her problems off. She vented for much too long, about every little stress she carried, all to Doc. They discussed their hook up from so long ago. Agreed it was nothing more than a way to feel better, like what might’ve happened right then. He did his advice thing, and the next morning she felt refreshed. Like releasing the lid off a bursting steam pipe; she’d exploded, and felt better, ready to move on. Felt a million times better than running, than trying the patented Wynonna Earp way.

“I really hope that dumb cowboy’s alive,” she added.

“After all this, he better be.”

A new voice entered, slightly muffled by a gas mask. They stepped in from a connecting hall to their tunnel, so suddenly it startled the four. It was Dolls and Nicole, so Wynonna cursed at Dolls and smacked him. On the flip side, Nicole and Waverly reunited with a hug.

“Any trouble?” Dolls asked.

Wynonna answered, “No. Well, I almost killed Jeremy, but no.”

Dolls looked to his friend, a curious face under that mask. Jeremy only rubbed at his shoulders in the memory.

-

More growth, sounds of Clickers nowhere to be found. They kicked more puddles, kicked dead bugs laying around, and Wynonna told a few bad jokes. Jeremy added in some puns about sewers, and the two went back and forth like some sort of skit.

They stopped at the sight of sunlight pouring in. Nicole saw an open grate above, saw spores fluttering into the fresh air above them. If Doc hadn’t been taken they could’ve left, right here. Deal or no.

But he was one of them, a wise old gambler with a great draw, so Dolls and Nicole continued. The weapons were waiting in front of a wall covered from top to bottom in fungal growth.

Most of the clips were missing, stolen by Bobo or this Bobo impersonator. Dolls pocketed some flamethrower fuel for himself. He never used the thing, but with their journey coming to a close he was itching to drop his emergency-only rule and unleash the thing.

Bad wish, right place.

Suddenly the wall burst to life, at Dolls’s excited _Yes!_ when he took the ammo. He and Nicole backed up, joining the team until they all hit a wall. They jumped down to get in here, and needed to climb back up to get out.

The creature approached, much too fast for comfort despite its larger, inhuman size. Thick plates of fungus covered its body from head to toe. Somewhere inside was a person, long lost to the Cordyceps virus. Later in life the team would learn much more about these monsters. The final form of the Infected, dubbed “Bloaters”, stage four of the infection. Typically they didn’t form until a decade or two of infection, but the team was just lucky enough to come across the world’s, probable, only early bloomer.

The monster bellowed a bone-rattling roar and picked something growing on its chest. Hurled it right for the team, and it exploded where their feet might’ve been if they decided to stay still. Monster throws something, you run. Mycotoxin, deadly product of fungi, according to Rosita. Not to be messed with.

The Bloater only continued tossing the toxic bombs as the team rounded it, every person blasting with heavy guns. Nicole and Wynonna had their hunting rifles, Waverly her already default shotgun, Jeremy the shotgun he picked up long ago in Ambrose’s town, Rosita her armor-piercing rifle. Dolls shot short bursts of his assault rifle, but knew the thing wasn’t doing much. The shotguns were barely doing damage against the beast’s thick plates of armor, only managing to take off pieces here and there. Luckily, even with all the blasting, no other Infected looming the sewers caught on. Must’ve been trapped elsewhere.

Dolls switched weapons. He waited until the Bloater charged for someone else, after throwing another poisonous bomb, and ran behind it. He unleashed a long blast of his flamethrower, and the team paused to watch, to see if the damned thing would finally roll over and die. Sure, they were stocked high on ammo, but that didn’t mean they should waste it all. If Doc were here he probably would’ve found a way to down the monster long ago, with a weak spot or something.

The Bloater flailed its arms, roared, tried to shake the flames off, threw more toxins. Guns were lowering, slowly. It was on fire—surely it was about to die.

Not quite.

It charged for the Earps, who in turn sprinted away from the corner they squatted. Waverly blasted at the back of the head, and large pieces of charred growth exploded off. Six sets of eyes widened, and suddenly everyone was shooting at the Bloater at once. Weakness to fire: noted.

The monster fell with the same roar it entered, this time less threatening and causing the team to cheer instead of lose their cool.

Wynonna was throwing an arm over her sister’s shoulder, looking down on the Stage Four. “I’m so glad we’re almost done with this shit.”

-

“Here’s your crap.”

Jaxon didn’t look impressed, or even thankful. He had his partner inspect, prompting Dolls to explain most of the ammo magazines were missing when they found them. And he used the entire clip he stole, so he wouldn’t really be benefitting from _that_ in the future. 

None mentioned what they found, and Nicole never proposed opening up stuck grates to kill the spores. Mind was racing from facing off with the Bloater. If Shae was alive, would she turn into one of those things someday? How many currently infected would? Would a vaccine be able to cure those things? Or would they be shot down? If so, how many more would be lost?

Jaxon, in an expression that could probably pass as satisfied, sent one of his armed-up thugs to fetch Doc, another to show the six an exit. Wynonna sarcastically thanked him for his hospitality.

“I’d armor up if I were you,” Jaxon said on the way. “That asshole’s no joke.”

At the sight of Doc approaching, the team began to head out. Wynonna glared at Jaxon and his partner.

“We’ve got it handled.”

-

Doc was spooked, shaking all over with blown eyes. They rushed him out and to the most open space they could find in the disaster above, somewhere he could breathe and recover. He asked for alcohol, but Dolls handed over water. So Wynonna slipped him her flask behind Dolls’s back.

They tried not to crowd him, pull him into a massive group hug. He walked about the space, an old intersection, hat in hand, eyes on the vast sky above. Not a cloud in sight. Spring was just around the corner, so the chill lingering in the air wasn’t too unbearable.

Wynonna joined him not after long, and he returned her new flask. She swapped for his, now full of something from Curtis’s expensive collection.

“You good?” she checked in. Doc’s hat returned to his head, his mustache twitching a smile.

“Good as I’ll ever be,” he assured, staring on. “This place took quite a hit.” Trying to change the subject.

“Well, I don’t want to pry, but why didn’t you tell us you were claustrophobic? No one would make fun of you. We could’ve taken so many different routes.”

Doc stopped, sat on a half-together stoop of a half-together building.

“I do not wish to be a hindrance,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “And I certainly do not wish to be viewed as fragile.”

“Okay, manly man.” Wynonna sat next to him. “No one cares, you know.”

“I do not enjoy bein’ fussed over.”

“Well, that’s too bad, buddy. It’s what we do here. Like an annoying kids movie about the power of friendship.” She looked at him. “I know you’re the cool, lone wolf drifter, but it’s okay to lean on someone.”

She looked to Waverly ahead, watching some magic trick Jeremy learned, with Nicole. He fumbled it up when he totally forget a step, and they teased him relentlessly.

“Waverly taught me that.”

“Well, she _is_ too smart to ignore.”

Wynonna’s advice, in the Perley sisters’ hotel. Wynonna smiled, and patted his thigh before standing.

“Needing help doesn’t make you a pain, Henry. Or useless, or fragile. It just makes you a human person.”

He grinned. “And who taught you that?”

“Waverly.” She started off. “But everyone else helped me believe it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally wrote this before kids movies and Wynonna were a touchy subject (the Yarn texts, y'all, my GOD). 
> 
> In the actual game The Last of Us we don't learn too much about what other countries were up to and how they're handling the Cordyceps, just what the US is doing. So the politics bit was just me guessing. Maybe we'll find out more in TLOU Part II, though, who knows?
> 
> Also took the initiative with Bloaters, because it does take them one or two decades to show up. But this is our team's last ever encounter with Infected on this grand conquest, so why not have them go out with a bang?
> 
> The other two chapters are completely done, just need to be looked over and cleaned up a bit. Should be up later today. As always, I thank y'all deeply for reading and supporting this thing. You beautiful angels, you!


	26. A King's Grand Fall, Part Three: Secular Love

The sight before them was difficult to take in. It was never easy to stare the ending the face, and sometimes harder to look at a new beginning. Scary, but it’s what they had to do. No matter how much they both didn’t want to.

The trailer park was quiet, good size. Many trash can fires going, with Fireflies hovering around to keep warm. An old rusted warehouse was down the road, some going in and out. Perhaps a temporary lab to replace the one they lost.

The seven stopped before the park began, observing in a deafening silence. Next up were the goodbyes, so maybe it was best not to talk at all.

Dolls turned to meet his team, standing in a half-circle, and smiled at them. He said his thank yous, expressed his gratitude. He mentioned his original squad, how he left them after they were attacked. They were bent on revenge, while he wanted to get Jeremy somewhere safe. Ran into Wynonna a few days later.

Being with this team was different. They didn’t go by the books, or any type of book, so things went by more creatively in combat. From day one they worked seamlessly, as if meant to be together. They understood each other’s mannerisms and knew how to use it, from Doc charging in like a tank to Rosita’s all-seeing eye. They talked everything through if they could help it, and spent most of their free time bonding, telling stories, telling jokes, playing games. They made Dolls feel like a person, like he could feel again.

Jeremy said he found a place of belonging. Doc didn’t mind he had a huge crush on him. Rosita and Waverly were bisexual, and Nicole was gay—he’s never had gay friends before. In that sense he was alone, other than the one or two people he met in his hometown, who preferred never to address it anyhow. He’d also learned how to defend himself, and found what shooting style suited him best. He found confidence, and finally felt useful outside of a lab. Felt he could protect those around him the way they could for him.

They passed around their parting hugs and shakes of the hand, but neither of the boys’ feet agreed to move on. Only stand, unsure. Unwilling. So Wynonna suggested walking them “home”, for old times’ sake. And frankly, with their luck, some sort of creature would rise right from Hell to attack them.

The silence kept, no one sure what to say. If a conversation started, Dolls and Jeremy weren’t sure they’d let it end. If it ended, they’d have to go, for real.

But Rosita made her way to Dolls’s side, for one last soldier chat, one last pinch of advice. She told him of the people she lost over the last eight years, each time her quarantine zone was breeched. She understood it was difficult losing someone like Eliza. But she reminded Dolls she lived on for those people on _her_ terms, not anyone else’s, including theirs. Because they’d want her to be the best she could be, unapologetically chasing what she desired, not worrying about the what-ifs between them but the mysteries of the future. Dolls considered, because something here touched him.

But, right on cue, before he could speak, Fireflies appeared, surrounding the team. Pointing guns, like they were threats.

Dolls and Jeremy showed their pendants, but no care was given. They were all instructed to drop their weapons, keep hands visible. A Firefly scanned them, one by one, with a military-made device. To see if anyone was infected.

Nicole was sweating. What the hell would hers read? Waverly worried the same, staring at her. They were surrounded, guns on the floor. Their best hope was this could come up clean, or these men were slow to draw.

The device pushed against her neck. Metal, cold. She clenched her jaw when it left, and again when it returned for a second check. Then the Firefly backed up.

“This one’s Infected!” he said. Nicole’s eyes screwed shut, her hands shook.

Guns turned on her. Waverly screamed for them to lower. Dolls jumped in front of Nicole, faster than anyone else could. His hands outstretched, in a way of peace, a way to beg for understanding.

Nicole’s eyes flew open when he asked the Fireflies to stand down, as did Jeremy’s. Dolls was going to break the group rule on Nicole’s condition: tell no one. It was impossible to tell how someone might react. Probably think them crazy.

“She’s immune,” he said, boldly, confidently.

On expression alone, some bought it, or at least wanted to. Some scoffed. The man who originally scanned Nicole rolled his eyes and clicked his safety off.

So Dolls grabbed Nicole’s arm, ignored the terrified glares of his mates, and rolled back her sleeve. The bite mark, clear as day, fully healed over, only a leftover scar to show now.

Expressions changed; shock, disbelief. Whispers; _No fucking way._ Dolls revealed it happened two weeks ago.

“How is that possible?” the man with the scanner asked He shoved Dolls aside and roughly grabbed Nicole’s arm. Inspected it for himself.

Nicole looked him over, annoyed. She wanted to yank her arm back, but let him have his way. He was the one with the gun, and thus the one with the power and the day. “When I was a kid,” she spat, “I ate all my vegetables.”

Wynonna snickered, proud. Nicole shot her a smile, and Waverly swatted Wynonna’s arm. Not the time for jokes.

The Firefly looked to Wynonna, grip releasing Nicole’s arm. She stared back at him. “Don’t look at me! I don’t have the answer! I finished high school, not college.”

“Barely.”

A chill exploded down Wynonna’s spine. Waverly blinked to make sure she was seeing properly. The whole team froze.

Bobo Del Rey, long fur coat almost grazing the ground with each, menacing step he took. Slow, threatening, the devil’s frosty charm on his lips. He ran a hand through his neatly-trimmed Mohawk, rings on his fingers glowing in the sun. He stopped his pace, inches from Wynonna’s face, a hateful look in her eyes for the man who corrupted her sister.

“Your grades were pitiful,” he finished, grinning wider, eviler. Clicking his teeth together once, threatening.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Wynonna bit.

He dipped his head closer, considered giving her an honest answer of how he clawed his way here, alone. But he only turned and walked off, stopping next to Nicole, who didn’t bother look at him. He stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then her arm. Then to the Firefly.

On cue, he reported ,”Sir, they’re saying this one is immune.”

Bobo motioned for him to go on. “Do you believe them?”

Dolls’s head was poking forward, so as to hear them better, without fault. “ ‘Sir’?” he repeated.

“Yes, sir,” the Firefly ignored.

Bobo nodded once, stroked his beard. “Then do what’s necessary.”

“And the others?”

He looked over the team a long few minutes, eyes piercing into their souls. He shot Wynonna a look that made her angry, Waverly one that made her step back, and Doc one enough to initiate a challenge. He finished with a sick, satisfied grin.

“Take their weapons. I’ll handle the rest.”

-

The Fireflies disbanded, as asked of them, ever loyal. The seven’s weapons were taken off somewhere, a place both Doc and Rosita noted, far off to the left half of the park, to a small shack.

Nobody on Team Earp was stupid, and no matter how badly each of them wanted to knock Bobo over the head and run, they were all very much aware of the surrounding numbers, almost all armed with assault weapons. And by the looks of it, these people were trusting of Bobo. No way they’d let anyone lay a finger on him. Robert Svane was a wimp, but Bobo Del Rey was a king, no matter where he walked or who he walked with.

Dolls inquired further on this situation, and Bobo decided to spare him the details. From what little Bobo knew of the team’s non-Earps, he guessed Dolls would join up with the Fireflies by Sanctuary. Dolls was foolish enough, in the couple times they met, to leave his Firefly pendant dangling, in the open.

Bobo set out, on his own. The rest of his men were tired, fighting Lou’s boys so long, and wanted to settle down in the place they’d stolen. So Bobo left determined, aggressively, more than ever to keep his promise to Ward. Protect his daughters, or die trying. Willa died. No one else was going to. He couldn’t quite keep up with tracking the team step by step, and instead decided to beat them to their goal. He’d heard rumors of where the Fireflies were holed up. Originally he wanted to attack Sanctuary, maybe leave them with no other choice than to join him, but when his mind became cooler he realized he didn’t have the tools to do such a thing. So he stuck to what he knew, stuck to the dirty tricks he learned as Bobo, the clean tricks he learned as Robert, both combining in the ultimate formula to strike a deal and get his way, always.

This group’s leader, Moody, died in the bombing. Certainly achieved the goal of eradicating the Infected population, but took out a number of Fireflies. Squatting locals, too. Ironic; the Fireflies were primarily across America, aimed at restoring their screwed government and restoring the screwed world. This team, primarily invested in finding the cure, planned to return south next fall to avoid Canada’s freezing temperatures. They braved this winter for nothing, it seemed.

Then Bobo went on about himself. He felt lost after Willa died, and the fact his men no longer had his back. He felt abandoned, like he failed Ward, like nothing could matter. Like he’d fail the remaining two Earps he swore to save from the world’s evils. He wanted to die himself, but he knew living on was best for Willa and her memory. Moping around wasn’t something she’d encourage. So he’d throw himself into what he cared about most, despite the odds against him.

Dolls didn’t want to relate to Bobo, but he couldn’t help it. He was brought back to what Rosita was saying earlier, saying clearly so as to keep him and Jeremy and the whole team together. It was completely true Eliza would’ve wanted him to do what made him happy. She always did. But at the same time, he felt he owed it to Eliza, and the world, to do this. This was a cause bigger than him or his wants and beliefs. Eliza wanted to change the world, from day one. It was why she joined the military. He felt, if he achieved what the Fireflies were going for, world peace and all that, it would make him happy. Deep down, he might’ve loved Eliza; he was doing this because he loved her and he wanted her to be happy. Whether she was here or not. When he thought of love he looked to Wynonna. Then looked off.

While Dolls was lost in his mind, Wynonna was arguing with Bobo. As usual. And, as usual, he didn’t care.

She questioned how Bobo becoming “evil” was going to please Willa. How he came here with the—in her eyes—selfish goal of snatching her and Waverly from what they wanted most, all in order to keep a promise. He answered he’s was helping the world by being head Firefly here. Wynonna’s eyes narrowed, unconvinced.

“We both know that’s not the reason you’re here.”

Alternatively, she meant being here was a power trip. An excuse to lead, bury pathetic Robert Svane down deep with the all-powerful Bobo Del Rey. Keeping his word to Ward was a fun side achievement. His old crew left him, and he failed them by letting Lou’s boys take their turf, so he was ready to begin anew. And here it was, with a fully armed, fully trained militia group.

-

Dolls and Jeremy were cut loose, allowed to rejoin. But no funny business—they were being watched. Nicole was dragged off to the unknown despite everyone’s protests, bite uncovered for all to see. Rosita enlisted right there, to her team’s surprise. She and Jeremy were escorted to the warehouse down the road. Doc and the two Earps were shoved into Bobo’s personal trailer for now, the biggest in the park. Before they entered, Rosita shared a knowing glance with Doc. She was buying precious time, so he needed to hurry up and figure a way out of this.

An uneasy amount of time passed before Bobo returned, and the Firefly he left to babysit his guests finally went about their business.

A silent tension filled the space, an underlying layer of anger burning a fire. Doc approached Bobo first, to initiate a long talk, but was met with a punch to the gut, and forcefully pushed to sit on a couch. While Wynonna cursed him, he called Doc a traitor. Doc wasn’t horribly offended.

Bobo was pointing at Wynonna, stepping over at a snail’s speed. He told her to calm down, reminded her he had the whole place at his mercy. All she had to offer was the accusation Bobo was responsible for the town being bombed. Truthfully, whether she wanted to believe it or not, he wasn’t. Just bad luck. Initially, until he turned it around. His plan was to kill Moody in secret, and blame it on his next-in-command, Jeannie Lucado. The day he began his plan, using explosives in the hospital, things turned out different with the air raid. But he got what he wanted. He killed Lucado himself during the bombing, an obstacle he originally had no plan for, and took to helping everyone else escape. They learned to trust his lead, and with no one else in line of Moody or Lucado, decided to appoint him in charge, new or not. They could feel an energy about Bobo, feel his determination. Believed it was something to trust and not to fear.

Then Waverly was asking, her heart pounding hard enough to make her go dizzy and collapse, what they planned to do with Nicole. Nothing good.

The warehouse was scrubbed clean long ago, and turned into a lab. These Fireflies remained here because they believed they were onto something and didn’t want to wait. Then the Earps and their team showed up, with all the answers to a cure. He revealed he was gone so long to attend the examination of Nicole’s bite. A mutation, the perfect piece missing from the puzzle. Extract it, use it to make a cure. Use it to save countless lives, bring society back to the way it was.

But Waverly didn’t care. This was Nicole—fuck everything and everyone else. This was the love of her life, not a tool for science.

“It spreads through the brain,” she said, fingers twitching anxiously.

Bobo shrugged in reply. Not a care spent. Wasn’t like he actually knew Nicole.

“Find someone else,” Wynonna said for her sister, who was stammering, lost.

“I’m afraid that won’t do,” Bobo refused, a taunting pout faking across his lips.

Wynonna recalled, “ ‘Morals get you killed’.” A quote from Bobo, early on in this eight-year mess. “Don’t you think you’re taking it too far, Robert?”

He nearly snarled at the sound of that name, taking a threatening step for Wynonna, who in turn retreated with a step back of her own. He leaned in close to her face, close enough to smell his unbrushed teeth.

“I don’t give a shit,” he proclaimed. “I keep my word. I don’t care if I have to kill every last Firefly here to do it, either, or start over a thousand times.” He looked to Waverly, closing the distance between them, too. “And I _certainly_ don’t give a flying _fuck_ about some girl.”

If Wynonna wasn’t holding her back, Waverly would’ve lunged right at Bobo. Tackled him, ran right out that door to Nicole’s side. Instead she was pulled by the sleeve, shot a warning look to calm herself. So she swallowed down her rage. For now.

“Why don’t you come with us to Sanctuary?” Wynonna proposed. When Doc opened his mouth in protest she shot him the same look she gave Waverly. And just like Waverly, Doc shut right up, swallowed down his rage. “It’s _right there._ Come on.”

Something hit Bobo suddenly, the way his eyes flickered to the ground, the way the angry tough guy act faltered. Sadness?

He stormed off for the door, out of the blue. “You’re too old to believe in fairy tales, Wynonna.” Then, he was gone.

Immediately, Waverly and her pleading eyes turned to Wynonna and Doc. “They’re going to kill her!” Her voice was almost a whisper, fear eating most of her tone.

Wynonna put her hands on her sister’s shoulders, looked right into her eyes. “We’ll get her back, baby girl. She’ll be okay. I promise.”

She turned to Doc, a silent _Let’s get going._ He stood, with a nod.

-

Dolls wandered the premises, alone, unarmed, his things never returned to him. Including personal belongings, precious items. But not what he was freaking out about right now. Didn’t really notice, actually.

He had a ton to stress about now, more than before. His people were here, whether or not he knew any personally. Not a detail he thought he’d care about. But Bobo Del Rey was top dog here. So were they Fireflies or rather a better trained version of his former crew?

Mostly, though, Dolls was at a personal crossroads. Betray his cause and humanity to help his friend escape, or sacrifice her to the greater good, whatever its success rate?

The thought over Rosita and Bobo’s words. Even if using Bobo Del Rey’s words for honest advice was weird. If Eliza were here, what would she encourage him to do? He couldn’t list the options, not even as someone else—he’s never known what he wants! He’s never considered. He only joined the military because he had nothing else going for him and thought action movies were pretty cool.

But one thing came to mind, one thing that slowed him down. Of all the things in the world, the one thing he _didn’t_ want was to keep missing people. Losing people. He didn’t want to miss Wynonna forever, and he didn’t want to lose Nicole. One made his heart race, the other was a friend, something he found difficult to come by all his life.

He sighed, took his baseball hat off his head, and stroked his buzzed hair. Never had Dolls felt so stuck. So out of control. So unsure where to go. He was a soldier without orders. Sometimes a dangerous thing. Sometimes better for everyone.

-

All hands on deck, for some surgery, whether or not they were doctors. If someone had a somewhat close degree or skillset, they headed off to the warehouse.

So Rosita and Jeremy prepped together, washing hands and awaiting scrubs. In some back room, cleaned down to every millimeter. Whole place smelled like old perfume, too. The type to be worn by an old person.

Fireflies left Jeremy and Rosita alone while scrounging around for extra scrubs. They seemed to trust the new duo much more than those who escorted them here. Certainly kept a looser eye on them. Surgery must’ve been big, then, the way it was stealing every ounce of their attention.

“I thought you weren’t going to stay?” Jeremy’d been burning to ask this question. He had his suspicions, but still liked to hear her answer. He always believed it rude to assume.

Rosita’s eyes were busy. Looking, plotting. For what, Jeremy didn’t know. But he had a hunch.

She pushed herself from the wall she leaned, uncrossed her arms. “I’m not,” she answered, just as Jeremy believed. “I’m getting the Earps,” she walked for the doorway, “and I’m getting us out of here.”

She poked her head out into the warehouse, doctors and smart-enough people shuffling along. Exit, ahead, unguarded. She nodded to herself, then turned back to Jeremy.

“It’s time I started over, on my own terms. Pave my own path.”

She hoped Dolls was in the same boat, still tried to keep him and Jeremy with the team earlier. If Bobo and the Fireflies hadn’t interrupted, they might’ve. Would be nice to figure out the stormy waters of transition with someone who understood, a fellow soldier. Maybe not. But if they changed their minds, at least they’d know where to go.

Jeremy suddenly pulled Rosita in for one last hug. He realized too late it might’ve been inappropriate, but worries faded when Rosita returned the sentiment and patted his back.

“Try not to piss anyone off cheating, alright, _ñoño_?”

She broke them apart, looked at him once more before stepping off.

“Hey, wait.” Jeremy had just one more burning question. “What does that mean, ‘ _ñoño’_?”

Rosita grinned at him from over her shoulders, then stepped off again. “Nerd.”

Of course. He smiled to himself and wished her luck once more. Felt that difficult, empty feeling as she left on her mission. First job without all of the team together.

He left himself a minute to get it together, to focus up on this surgery. His first job with his new team. He walked out to the others, and approached the same person from before about scrubs. Things were so hectic, they’d forgotten. And luckily forgot about Rosita, too.

When Jeremy was brought closer to the patient of the hour, he froze. Felt a fear he’d not felt before, one hitting harder than any chase, cannibal, or monster could. His friend, Nicole Haught, on the table, unconscious. In scrubs, the same. Scalpels and other tools sterilized and waiting.

He overheard the plan here. How they managed scans of Nicole in their thrown-together lab. Remove the mutation, reverse-engineer a vaccine. Save the world. Go back to stressing over bills, not killers. Everything, as a scientist and a Firefly, he wanted.

He felt sick. Betrayed, somehow. Torn, between what he believed, and someone he held dear. One of the best friends he ever had. Someone he traveled all this way with, fought alongside, learned from, talked with, joked with. Someone he would never hurt, standing in the way of the biggest discovery of humankind, on all scales.

-

Today’s theme was questioning beliefs, as Waverly fought herself in a mental storm.

Doc and Wynonna, the noise around her, scurried about the trailer. Looking out windows, muttering plans she wasn’t listening to. Too lost in her head, because Nicole wasn’t here to calm the storm. Right now, Nicole _was_ the storm.

When the Outbreak hit, the Earp family argued about everything. More frequently than before. Clashing ideals, mostly. What would get them killed and what would let them live as long as the universe allowed. One thing Waverly and Wynonna butted heads on often was in regards to someone turning.

Wynonna believed turning was the worst possible thing to happen to a person, worse than death. Because it was torture, in a way, to be trapped in your own body with no control, the fungus eating away your sanity and making life nothing more than _eat, bite, kill, destroy._ Waverly knew, down the line, this was all going to end the way it did in the movies: with a cure. With humans banding together, a step they already failed, and combining their efforts to kill the real enemy: the virus. Not the person carrying it, but the sickness itself. There was no way that person could be doomed, forever, with no hope. She wouldn’t have it.

This was the solution. Sacrifice one measly person for hundreds, thousands, millions. 

But this wasn’t any one, measly person. It was Nicole. Nicole Haught, the woman she loved from the second she laid eyes on her. The woman she’d been through way too many things for one lifetime together with, the woman who had a difficult past and was just now finding her ground.

Waverly never painted herself selfish. Ward was, so she vowed to be giving. As giving as Curtis and Gus. She helped little old ladies cross the street. Closed the bar for Shorty no matter how exhausted she was, because he had a heart condition that’d act up some days. Always drove Wynonna home when she was drunk, always covered her sneaking in and sneaking out. Put up with Champ, even when he deserved a good kick to the shin.

But right now, the only word she could think of to describe herself was selfish. Because she was _going_ to rescue Nicole, no matter what.

-

These guys were no joke, and if Rosita wasn’t so well trained, they might’ve taken her down, easy.

Two people guarding the small shack holding her team’s things. They didn’t care for the classic make-noise-pick-them-off trick. Actually, they thought someone else was messing with them and laughed the whole ordeal off. So she got creative.

Rosita tried the Doc-style hustle. Acted like she was injured, claiming those damn Earps escaped and stole her weapons. One kept an eye out, the other returned to the door, with Rosita. Handed over a pistol, not thinking to go the safe, suspicious route and ask Rosita for the pendant she hadn’t been issued yet.

Jumped at the opportunity. First she knocked this person out with a slap of her new gun, and shot the other down. Then she rushed inside the shack, already a sort of weapons cache with what few leftovers they had sitting around. She slung her sniper over her shoulder for now, and Waverly’s shotgun, and stuffed Peacemaker into her boot, Doc’s revolvers into her back pockets. Some ammo in her fronts. Travel light for now, grab her team. They could run back here once they were free, grab their crap, and sneak off. The shack was by itself, away from other trailers and broken trucks. Perfect for a getaway.

But first, she planned to stir things up, in their favor.

She rushed out the shack, for the direction of the warehouse. Not too far from the wannabe gun shop, not too close to the wannabe lab. She shot her rifle at no point in particular on the warehouse, and watched as chaos broke out. A chain reaction, because she just declared war.

-

The Fireflies scrambled about. Rosita moved, so by the time they tracked the sound she was gone. Further spread panic, because they began to prepare for the believed threat of outside attackers.

Doc and the Earps heard it, easy, and heard the rush of boots outside their door, keeping them trapped and from contributing to chaos, their specialty.

By now their plan was set, and with Rosita’s aid, ready to play. But first Wynonna wanted to find Doc a weapon or something to help handle their guard dog outside. Waverly took the opportunity to quickly speak with Doc.

“I’m really happy you didn’t leave, back at Nicole’s,” she said, the proof in her eyes. Doc’s blues took on the same expression.

“Thank you for tryin’ to keep me.” He removed his hat. Serious time. “I did not mean what I said; this team is all we have, in this hurricane of a world.”

Waverly smiled in acceptance, and if not for the current, nerve-wracking situation it might’ve been bigger and brighter. Doc noticed.

“Officer Haught will be just fine, darlin’. I swear it.”

Waverly rubbed at her arm, anxiously, smile long faded. She wanted to ask if this was wrong, if they _should_ be stopping this process, but Wynonna interrupted when she handed Doc a rusted old frying pan. Next thing she knew they were helping boost Doc up and out, through the trailer’s hatch. Waiting at the door for him to release them, spotting Wynonna rubbing her shoulder where Doc pushed himself off. Then she was apologizing to Jeremy, here or not.

Doc inhaled the fresh air as long as he could, happy to quit the cramped trailer. If the thing didn’t have windows bursting with the sunshines of outdoors, he’d be on his way to another claustrophobic episode. Instead he was moving on, jumping off to the ground below. Rushing to the door to hit the guard over the head and open the unlocked door.

Onward to step two of the plan. Earps headed out to that shack Doc caught a glimpse of before entering Bobo’s prison. Doc looted the dropped assault rifle and handed it off to Wynonna before rushing off to find Dolls. It’d be a war to get to Nicole. They needed the best soldier they had. Whether or not he would side with the rebellion was up to Doc and his seasoned words.

Meanwhile, across the way, standing next to the team’s ultimate goal, Jeremy was hanging back. Doing his best to remain unnoticed, as the doctors and their assistants argued to either continue with the surgery despite the chaos, or delay and get Nicole somewhere safe. No telling who was attacking them. Some guessed Earps, on their way here now, urging the surgery to begin. Others believed bandits were stepping up, and thus hiding Nicole was smarter, keeping their greatest treasure from thieves looking for anything with a shine.

Jeremy wasn’t hanging back because he was confused, scared, unsure what to do. He hung back because he made his decision.

-

Dolls was quite aware, in his self-conflict, of the battle cooking up. He also knew that booming bullet echoing throughout the park came from Rosita’s sniper. So he wasn’t totally surprised when Doc ran up to him, chest heaving, hat crooked, and began his plea for Dolls to help them out. Dolls was still at a canyon, unsure if he should jump or turn around. He knew what this was about. He knew this was a rescue mission for Nicole, who was likely scheduled to be cut open and extracted any minute now.

He told Doc his stance on this restless scale, up one second, down the next. Pledged to two different loyalties, now tasked with choosing. In the military, he had only one,  ultimate loyalty.

Doc steadied his rambling, placing his hands on Dolls’s shoulders.

“Xavier!” he stopped, and Dolls did, his eyes wide. “Do you care for Wynonna?” Different approach; time was short.

Dolls’s worries faded, replaced with visions of Wynonna Earp. Laughing with him at a campfire. Talking, seriously, about what few things she liked. How she looked after her sister, further extending to caring for Nicole. He remembered the first day they met. She was bleeding out, tired, hungry, armed with an empty revolver and a switchblade, against his assault weapons. Uncaring if he’d kill her, because she had the greater purpose of her sister to attend to, and damn him if he got in her way.

“Of course I do,” he answered, the simplest thing in the world. “She’s my—partn—friend.” Doc’s hands dropped, and he stepped back. “She’s my friend.”

Doc readjusted his hat, fixed his hair underneath. Looked at Dolls, deeper. “Do you _care_ for her?”

Dolls caught on. “She’s with you, isn’t she?”

“Well, if she is, I have not been informed. He yearns for you, Dolls. I know you do, too.”

“But I thought—”

“I have known Wynonna Earp for many years. I have seen her, barrelin’ through life, goin’ in and out of the same jail cell so quick it might as well have been home. I just want her to be happy, Xavier, and if she so desires you, then by all means.” His hands went up, in surrender. “I do not wish to compete. Now, are you with me? With her?”

Dolls nodded.

-

By now the Earps had long reunited with Rosita and headed back to the shack. Wynonna promised Doc would know to come here. One thing they weren’t counting on was Fireflies showing up and starting a large scale brawl. All were unarmed and heading over to grab weapons. So Wynonna showed them how Earps settled things.

She happily jumped into the fray, fists flying, a chaotic expression to her face. Waverly excitedly pulled out her escrima sticks, eager to finally use them. But, as soon as she swing for it, that first ever hit, someone kicked the pair from her hands. Big moment: ruined.

Doc and Dolls arrived not a moment too late, tossing their formal and informal styles to the mix. Fireflies fell left and right, like the bugs they were inspired by.

Right away Wynonna ushered Doc over, handed him his things. Somehow she hadn’t noticed Dolls, proven by her shocked, thankful expression when he walked up to her.

“You’ll help us?” she asked.

He was steps from her now, every worry dissolving away to let him focus on her. She generously handed him his things, and he took them with no hesitation. Smiled at her as he check his Glock. Set the safety off.

“Always, Earp.”

-

Wynonna took Jeremy’s things, and Dolls insisted on helping her haul it. She wasn’t sure why she took it, because she knew he was set on here. He wasn’t going with them, right? No guarantee on Dolls, either. Still, she felt an obligation to return his things to him. He loved his comics, and his old GameBoy. Least she could do.

Strapped across her front was Nicole’s backpack, taken so Waverly could focus up. They were too far for her to lose her little sister, especially while on a rescue mission. Waverly shoved the machete inside, alongside her own revolver. Nicole’s service weapon and holster found home on her hip. No way was she going into battle without a trace of Nicole, and the pistol held much more than a six-shooter could. The hunting rifle from Perry and new assault rifle remained on her back.

The team, all but two and a third, deceased member, were back for the grandest of all their pursuits: save one of their own. Don’t let Bobo Del Rey win. Don’t forget what they’d been through all these miles.

Rosita intentionally shot at the warehouse again, let Fireflies close in on the spot while the team split to elsewhere. They fell for it, but no telling how many more precious seconds she bought. In fact, she might’ve actually made things worse in regards to the go-or-no-go argument inside.

They kept a low profile for as long as they possibly could. But they stuck out like a sore thumb in this place, new faces rushing along, armed to the teeth, two people hauling two backpacks. Wynonna was grateful they walked most of this trip, because Nicole’s crap was heavy. The extra muscle was useful.

They made it a decent distance. Not what they were hoping for, but good enough to make a difference.

Dolls was shot at first. Down the traitor, and all that. Doc pushed him aside, flashing his pistols right back to position to take down the attackers. Dolls caught on as he stumbled, immediately catching himself enough to kick over a thick fold-up table for cover. Doc ducked behind a flaming trash can. Rosita and the Earps hugged two separate trailers, Wynonna by herself and Waverly with Rosita.

Eight walking in, two already downed with Doc’s speed. All trained, to a professional degree or a close imitation. All puppy-dogging their cover. No paintballs this time, so much higher, very fatal risk getting the angle. Not much else surrounding to duck behind, either. They were stuck, on both sides. The most managed was a close call on Wynonna’s part, watching a bullet kill the space she just left, and Doc managed to shoot someone’s hand. Rosita was spotted just as she trapped a Firefly in her crosshairs and ultimately couldn’t make the shot.

“We need a Molotov, Wynonna!” Dolls called.

Doc was in too tight a space to rummage around in his backpack. He’d been completely still ever since their encounter here began. Wynonna cursed, because he had all the generic beer, and she had the collection from Curtis. So did Dolls, but his best lighter was a flamethrower empty of fuel. Wasted all on that Bloater. And, secretly, she gave him the best ones. A parting gift.

“God damn you and your immune system, Nicole!” Wynonna whined, pulling out her least favorite. Waverly’s awful bubblegum sake, imported from Japan. Why she wasn’t carrying it was a mystery.

Waverly was staring her down, a fury burning in her eyes. “The bubblegum sake I imported from Japan!”

Wynonna stared back. “You don’t even like it! No one likes it! It’s gross!”

“It’s unique!”

“I’ll get you a new one!”

“From where?”

Rosita turned to them from across the trailer, where she was trying to take down some of these foes herself. “Jesus Christ! Cut the sister bickering crap and throw the damn thing!”

Wynonna nodded, fastening a cloth to light. She looked to her sister from the corner of her eyes. “Put it on your girlfriend’s tab!”

Waverly watched longingly as her terrible drink flew through the air, ablaze, and torched three Fireflies on impact. A fourth wasn’t quite close enough, but still made to run from the way, his sleeve burning in a tiny, manageable fire. Rosita’s rifle sunk him. Not the one she was trailing, but she wasn’t picky.

Live grenade went airborne in response, tired of this nonsense. By now, more Fireflies were on their way. Doc shot the thing mid-air, held his hat when it exploded and kick dirt all over him and Dolls. Dolls was familiar with that awful dulling of sound, an annoying screech in his ear drums. Doc wasn’t. While their foes resettled, he decided to move and join Dolls at that sturdy table to regain his bearings. Table was well made. Wynonna fired off Peacemaker a couple times to keep him covered. She managed to graze someone, but not too horribly.

More units on the field now, all armed with assault weapons. Some made to circle around, but the Earps finished them off, and scared the ones they didn’t hit. Wynonna reluctantly threw another bottle, some old vodka she didn’t really care for anyway. No complaints from Waverly. Took down a considerate number, but it was cancelled out the way the whole park crowded for them.

Rosita suddenly ran inside her trailer. Gathered some sugar, threw together a few smoke bombs. It was time to quit this place, some arriving with bullet-proof vests and helmets strapped on. It was a waiting grave. The second the bomb exploded against the ground, Doc and Dolls fell back to join them and run off.

Rerouting—not a new feature of this trip. Running wasn’t, either. Especially from armed people searching for them. One new feature: the team was the troublemakers here. It was more parts terrifying than exhilarating. Even for Wynonna and Doc, who were used to this sort of thing; making trouble and dripping out, quick.

The new path forward was less direct. Less forward. It’d certainly take longer to get to their goal, but anywhere but backwards in the opposite direction would have to do.

They moved on rushing heels, Wynonna and Dolls pushing extra hard with their extra crap. A considerate distance was made as they circled around before some asshole with a good eye spotted them. Next thing they knew, a whole crowd was inbound, Dolls releasing clip after clip of his assault rifle. He urged his mates to use autos as well.

On the run again, another desperate escape when things got too rough. Two gamblers on the team; they made their own luck. A smoke bomb helped them clear to the edge of the park opposite from where they began in that shack. Less people here, but still some to worry about. Not to mention the crowd approaching to comb the place. Because of help from a radio, the few here got a head start on the search.

Crouching in stealth mode was best here. Moving from trailer to trailer, trash can or table or whatever else in between to help keep them hidden as they advanced. Warehouse wasn’t too far now, and they could sneak in through the side. Odds back in their favor.

Doc took the lead, with his throwing knives. Someone stepped too close, made things difficult to move, or spotted them, he took them down. Never missed, never slipped up. Wynonna remarked, next big journey, they were bringing silencers and a bow and arrow set. She refused to ever run again, or even power walk. Had her fill, for a lifetime.

Doc tried not to be too proud of himself once they met the vicinity of their target, not caught once. Waverly thanked him with a hug, Wynonna with her best smile.

But here they had to break the silent approach. It was quite obvious where they’d be headed, so some Fireflies formed the last stand between Team Earp and Nicole Haught. No way in through this side, either, or around the unguarded corner. The back door was barricaded on the other side, refusing to budge no matter how hard they kicked at it.

“Of course the only way in is on the other freakin’ side,” Waverly grumbled. Her sister steadied her with a pat to the shoulder.

“Go big or go home, right?”

Wynonna’s proposed plan was the one they’d go with. She and Waverly handed over Nicole’s unused—in respect—assault rifle to Doc. Despite his borrowed gun philosophy, he took it. No time to argue. They’d form a circle, cover each other from all angles. Rosita pulled out her new rifle, Wynonna Eliza’s machine pistol. Waverly stuck to her shotgun.

They started out by dumping the last smoke bomb right at the front door. The radius was wide enough to let them enter undetected. Unleashed their respective weapons, knocking those with vests against the head, pushing those with helmets completely over. Or ripping the thing from their head and slamming it against the skull they hoped to protect.

Inside was a chaos without guns. Bunch of doctors shuffling about. Some were injured on the ground, with spare scalpels or needles cutting into them. Jeremy put those knife-throwing lessons to use. Turns out he was pretty good at it.

A couple had guns, but Doc shot them down with his revolvers before they could aim. Felt wrong to do it with the rifle. Rosita and the Earps barred the door handles with the escrima sticks. Their one true, grand purpose.

Dolls raced across the room, to find a doctor holding Jeremy down, another trying to impale a scalpel into his neck. He shot the armed one in the back, and Jeremy elbowed the other, before they were shot down, too.

Before Dolls would shoot, however, he hovered over them first, where Jeremy’s impressive blow knocked them to the ground. He tucked away his rifle and pulled the Glock, staring coldly below.

“Aren’t you one of us?” they begged. “How could you do this? This is madness!”

He looked down on his Firefly pendant, swishing back and forth. Turning, left to right; “Xavier Dolls”, then to the sigil, on and off. He ripped the thing off, threw it aside. His military tags, too. Today, right now, he proved where his allegiance belonged, sealed with a bullet through the doctor’s head.

The team disposed of the other, unarmed doctors. Wynonna knocked them out if she could help it, and Doc and Rosita aimed for non-lethal spots. Waverly, out of character, was more aggressive than ever, shooting at point-blank even after they surrendered. Just moments before they were going to cut into Nicole, kill her. Of course Waverly was dropping her sunshine personality.

Meanwhile Dolls handed Jeremy back his things. And apologized, profusely. Jeremy looked his friend in the eyes, a small nod leaving him as he threw aside his own pendant, _Jeremy Chetri_ slapping the pavement.

“We’re a team,” he promised. “Until the end.”

Then Jeremy was changing back into regular clothes, hurriedly explaining Nicole was being transferred. Across the park, in a _working_ car. They left through the front before as the team was circling around the long way earlier, so they totally missed it. Sure, Nicole’d get in, but they planned to be the ones driving.

They worked on getting the recently barricaded back door open, while Waverly collected Nicole’s things from under the operating table. Family ring included.

It wasn’t too difficult to spot Nicole after turning the corner, and the doctors weren’t too far off. Rolling an about six foot tall woman on uneven ground in an active war zone isn’t particularly easy. Luckily.

A line of trailers kept them hidden from those still trying to break into the warehouse. The team ran for some time, and when they were close enough Dolls whipped out Eliza’s scoped hunting rifle, Rosita her formal sniper. They stopped to shoot in unison, Jeremy halting a second late to join, and the remaining three pressed on to close the distance. Earps and Holliday incarnate were more hands-on like that.

The unsuspecting doctors wearing nothing more than scrubs fell as flies, no fuss. Waverly held Nicole’s unconscious head between her hands and kissed her cold lips.

“You’re safe now, baby,” as if Nicole could hear.

“We’re sure as hell not,” Doc warned, shooting twice to his right, revolvers still in hand. It was the direction the doctors were headed.

Waverly looked to Wynonna, then Dolls. “W-What do we do?”

Wynonna stammered, looked to Dolls. They could all see the gears turning in his head, incoherent words escaping his lips as he muttered. A loud gunshot ahead startled him, back into reality, accelerating him to a solution.

“Get Nicole back to the warehouse. Doc, stay with them, they need you.”

He was already starting off, following Dolls, heading off as he spoke, but stopped at the request.

“Rosita and I will get the car.” Rosita joined Dolls right way. His pace picked up. “Meet back there in ten!”

Back into their claimed territory, the warehouse, again with the safety of the trailers as Fireflies circled around the long line. Barricades returned to the back door, and the escrima sticks were returned to Waverly. Doc and Wynonna guarded the reopened front door, heated guns popping on and off. Jeremy guarded Waverly by the rear, who in turn stood watch over Nicole.

She held Nicole’s hand, backpack returned to rest on her motionless legs, form strewn across the table. Holding her girl, and somehow, even while unconscious, Nicole managed to soothe her. For the first time since that scanner, Waverly felt like she could breathe. She took a moment to pant out the last few several minutes on the move, then checked her weapons. Shoved more shotgun shells into her pockets, the supply running low enough to shake her. Revolver was moved back to her back pocket for emergency use, Nicole’s full pistol on her waist. Machete still tucked away. Escrima sticks in Waverly’s backpack, for now. She geared up well, ready for everything this place had to offer.

In her small moment of calming waters, Waverly noticed Jeremy. Tense, sure, but a sadness to him. His eyes raked over the dead and unconscious doctors, the shattered screams on equipment. Blue scrubs, running red, some by his skilled hand. The stench of death stinging his nostrils.

“I’m really sorry, Jeremy,” Waverly breathed. He turned suddenly, a worry to him, like he thought she was about to do something insane further from the insane thing they were currently doing. “I-I know you wanted to help.”

He gave her a reassuring smile, promising his true feelings. “Some things are more important to me.”

Waverly noticed his neck, for the first time empty of a silver chain. She thought back to Dolls. Same thing. Did that mean—

She didn’t get to ask, because Jeremy was explaining something else. While they were fighting to get over here, he managed to keep the doctors distracted. As they argued about whether or not to continue with the operation, he sabotaged machines. Pulled plugs, snapped wires. Only helped fuel the argument Nicole’s extraction should be postponed. It worked for the longest time, until he inevitably slipped up and was caught. One of the doctors pulled a gun, threatening him to stand down. When two others grabbed him he decided to begin a brawl of his own. The gun was never fired, not until Nicole was taken elsewhere, away from the chaos. So he took the opportunity to run, try to stop them from leaving. Put his new lessons from Doc to the test. Someone managed to tackle him, and Nicole’s handlers escaped. He kept struggling, until one man grabbed him and the head surgeon tried to kill him. Here, the team showed up and Dolls helped him along.

He looked sad, but still promised, “I’m on Nicole’s side, until the end.”

Waverly stroked Nicole’s hand with her thumb, not leaving Jeremy’s eyes. “But are you su—”

The front door slammed shut. Wynonna Earp was marching to the back, calling Jeremy to help her move the passageway to the rear exit.

“We’re outnumbered,” she explained. She grabbed Waverly’s arm, stuffing some alcohol bottles and matches into her pack, front pocket. Then she was holding her little sister’s head in her hands. “You need to go. Take Jere—”

Waverly’s eyes were wide. She pushed Wynonna’s hands from their grip. “No! No, I’m not leaving you!”

Wynonna shook her head. No tolerance for refusal right now. “Baby girl, it’s _bad._ You need to get her out of here.” She turned to Jeremy as she began to return to Doc’s side in the front. “You keep her safe!”

Then they were on the run yet again, both Jeremy and Waverly rolling Nicole through the uneven grass, cart bouncing Nicole’s body around. Neither were sure why they actually left. Why they actually let Wynonna and Doc play the bait. Then again, they were doing many spur-of-the-moment crazies today.

The pair halted suddenly, at the sound of an explosion blasting against the warehouse. Jeremy stared back, then at Nicole, then at Waverly, then back again. His rifle left his shoulders.

“No, don’t you dare!” Waverly knew him. He was going back to help.

But Jeremy was already running off, because he knew Waverly wouldn’t dare leave Nicole’s helpless side. Dangerous thing, a closely acquainted team.

And Waverly stayed, exactly as he’d predicted, and, further, kept the pace going. Reluctantly, but just as quickly as if she’d been eager about it.

There was nothing behind the warehouse, nothing but wide grasslands and the snow dumped all over it. Gunshots ripping through the silence, and wheels jumping up and down on the curved ground. She spotted a building ahead, far off in the distance. Right now it seemed the best bet. Right now it made sense, and somehow she’d forget how tired her shaking legs were and push through, and somehow the team would _know_ she went there, and somehow they’d make it out in one piece and meet up with Mama before sundown.

Strangely, she felt she could think, the further from the guns and screaming and pools of blood she managed. It was now hitting her, in all the team’s combined anxieties, how little they thought this through. From the second that scanner made itself known, everything fell right into _save Nicole, save Nicole, save Nicole._ Dolls blew her secret for her. Jeremy blew his chance to make the change he craved, as a scientist. They went against an entire park of trained Fireflies, armed with both weapons and protection. Had no way out, and started this juncture with no weapons. Relied on their dumb luck instead of logic—though they always seemed to. Did that mean it was meant to be? Or just a terrible, terrible screw up on the universe’s part?

Not to mention Waverly didn’t stop once to consider what Nicole might’ve wanted. She cursed herself. Waverly only considered what Waverly wanted, and that was Nicole, alive and well. She felt like she was taking something from her. What if Nicole wanted this? What if she wanted to hand herself over? There was no turning back now. What would she say? What would she think? The bodies were piling up—what were they doing?

She stopped, not of free will but because of a sharp tugging at her jacket, one strong enough to send her to the ground. She jerked around, Nicole’s pistol in hand, to find a Mohawk and fur coat waiting, the wearer wearing not the devil’s grin but the devil’s snarl.

“Angel,” Bobo Del Rey greeted coldly, glaring down on her. When he stepped forward, the safety clicked off.

“Don’t,” Waverly warned. “Get back.”

He surrendered, for the sake of good faith. Waverly jumped to her feet, swiping snow off her person and returning to Nicole’s side. The pistol was swapped for the shotgun.

“Don’t get too attached,” Bobo said, indicating the gun, “that’s your mama’s favorite.”

She cocked the weapon. “I know.”

“As were you.”

“Don’t.”

No care, a step closer. Waverly’s hands shook. In fear or anger—who knows?

“She won’t tell you,” Bobo spurred. “I know she won’t. You’re too sweet,” he licked the shotgun, “and she’s too cruel.”

“All you do is lie.” Waverly backed, hip hitting the table. “Why should I believe a word you say?”

“Not to you.” He stepped closer, inches from her face. He smiled, “You’re too sweet.”

She nudged him away with the gun’s barrel, and again he complied, hands up in surrender.

“Your daddy was on Purgatory’s most wanted,” he said again. Waverly shook her head, narrowed her eyes farther than they were already.

“Don’t.”

“Mommy, too.”

“Stop!”

“They sold drugs. Killed. Kidnapped. Trafficked. Raped. One night they were particularly excited, and accidentally made you.”

A sickness washed over her, and she struggled to breathe. “You’re lying, Robert.”

He shook his had in sympathy. “No I’m not. Not to you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“They were my family, too,” he reminded, hand moving in front of him thoughtfully, no different than a professor at a lecture. “When I was younger, I made the mistake of running with them. I was caught.” He paused now, his feral eyes latching onto Waverly’s, as she stared almost in horror. “Michelle took you from them, to save you, to hurt them, to piss them off.” He stopped, ran a hand through his hair. “To lure them.”

Waverly was quiet now, like she was actually accepting this tall tale as truth. It was correct, that Bobo never lied to her. Growing up, he did nothing but support her. Praise her, when word got out of her good deeds. All while Ward brushed her off.

“Arresting those two made Ward’s career.” He smiled, just as feral as his eyes. “He owes everything, all to you.”

“Why didn’t you take me in?” She cursed herself for asking, for playing his awful game.

“The courts said I was too close. But Ward knew me. I was a scared kid. He let me near you, because _damn_ he didn’t want you.”

“Why didn’t he want me?” Her voice cracked. She blinked away a tear.

Bobo walked over, lowered her shotgun’s barrel. Stroked it over, once.

“Because Michelle got sick of his shit and left. And you, my dear, are a spitting image of her.” He pressed his palms together. “All that goodness.” His hands parted, then balled into fists. “All that rage.”

“Why did Mama leave?” A tear fell. “Why didn’t she take us with her?”

Bobo wiped off her tears, gently. She didn’t know why she just let him do it, but she did.

“Because Ward was a screw-up,” he answered, hands still on her face. “Your parents got out. They wanted you back.” Bobo looked pained. “And Ward didn’t.”

He backed off, a look of deep empathy emerging. Waverly fell for it, whether or not she wanted to.

“Michelle left to protect you. Why do you think she’s in that prison, Waverly? It’s hers. She made it to hold them. For you.”

Waverly’s eyes searched the ground. Her fingers scratched, nerved, at the weapon in her hand, still half-raised. Convincing story, truly. Hit all the points. But it was from Bobo Del Rey’s lips, a snake and all its venoms. It couldn’t be true. She didn’t _want_ it to be true.

“Your parents were low lives, Waverly. They’re not worth your time.”

She looked up. Ready to condemn Bobo and his lies, his twists, his cheats. Shoot his chest until it hollowed out and collapsed onto itself, watch the life leave his eyes and promise to never follow and torment her family again.

But that pain in his eyes, the grief and longing to his face, wishing she could have anyone but his dear old friend Ward Earp as a father—genuine. He wasn’t lying. She felt it, the same gut feeling that told her Wynonna was missing. The same gut feeling Dolls and Jeremy were different, and could be trusted. The same gut feeling that nagged her not to go to Shorty’s on the day of the Outbreak. The same gut feeling that told her to trust Nicole. Ask Nicole to join the team. Kiss Nicole for the first time. Save Nicole from the Fireflies.

“You have what you wanted,” Bobo said again, his aura still grieving, for the life Waverly never had. “Still want to shoot me?”

“No, but I might.”

The Buntline Special christened Peacemaker, pulling its safety off. Pointing right for Bobo’s exposed head. The look of a woman with an unchangeable opinion, right behind him.

At near Doc-speeds a revolver flew from inside Bobo’s coat to aim directly into Waverly’s face. Safety clicking off.

“It’s time to return the girl,” Bobo snarled at Wynonna. All human feelings of sadness and longing gone.

Wynonna almost didn’t react. “You won’t shoot Waverly, the same way I wouldn’t. Why the hell do you care so much about this, anyway? You’ve never given a shit about the Fireflies or a cure.”

Bobo was quiet, no more than a cold stare into Wynonna’s cold eyes. Waverly looked him over. Noted how he couldn’t answer. How his fingers rubbed against another, uncomfortably. She gasped.

“Oh my  god, you’re infected.”

He looked back at her, almost alarmed. Like the words hit him. Wynonna was starting to believe it, too. How fast he told his new posse to “do what’s necessary”.

“Show us,” she demanded. His pistol lowered, the sad gleam returning to his eye. “Show it to us!”

He angrily slammed the revolver down and yanked his pant leg up. A deep red gash in his calf, two sets of teeth and looking worse by the second. The opposite of Nicole’s when she showed them.

“How?” Waverly asked. “All the Infected were dispatched.”

Bobo pulled a folded pair of binoculars in response, slamming it down next to the discarded revolver.

A defeated rage came about his features.

“Every single day, I _waited_ , watched, for you two and your god damn friends. I stared into that _fucking_ mess of a town, _waiting_ for you, for two _fucking_ weeks. And when you finally did, I ran. When Henry fell into the sewer, I tried to step in.” He dropped the pant leg, bore his teeth like a wolf. “And then a _fucking_ Clicker trapped under a dumpster bit me. I followed the open grates, all the way to the end. Just in time to see you down that monster.”

He turned suddenly, fast enough to make Waverly jump and almost force Wynonna to shoot. Pointed at Nicole, still asleep.

“And then I saw her. She didn’t have a mask on.” He looked back to Wynonna, stepping for her. “So I waited some more. And waited, and waited, and waited, and _waited,_ for you, exactly where I hoped to find you.”

He looked back on Nicole. When he took a step for her, Waverly’s shotgun raised.

“With her. She’s the answer to everything. She can fix this. She can fix me. And we’ll all be alright.” His hands cupped Waverly’s features. “You’ll be safe, angel.”

Wynonna finally shot him, right through the mark on the back of his calf. Waverly pushed him backwards, letting him fall to the snow.

“Go,” Wynonna instructed. “Take Nicole. I’ll be there.”

When Waverly opened her mouth to refuse Wynonna yelled, so she hurried along. Peacemaker stayed trained on Bobo as he watched her get away, safely. Waverly and her greatest treasure meeting freedom. Waverly and his last hope, escaping.

“Do it,” he said. He grabbed Peacemaker’s barrel and leaned up, closer to it. No room to miss. “Do it. I’m already in Hell.”

Wynonna was hit with every single thing he’d achieved as Bobo Del Rey. The turf war. The kidnapping of tourists, letting his boys consume them as food if they so pleased. Hiding the map and Michelle altogether. Using Doc to track them. Slaughtering Ambrose and his people and taking everything they’d ever earned. Corrupting Willa, bringing her to his side over her sisters. Ultimately leading to her death, in Ambrose’s town, ripped apart by Runners and Clickers.

“Did you love her, Robert?”

 His eyes were still tethered to hers, piercing into her. “Did you?”

She looked him over, fighting every urge to consider whether or not she was actually happy to shoot Willa Earp down. She ripped Peacemaker from his grip, aiming for herself.

“I do appreciate what you’ve done for us, Bobo,” she said. “You’ve always tried to have Waverly’s back. You cared for Willa, in your own fucked way. You tried to get Ward to go a little easy on me. You kept us safe. You kept Waverly safe. So thank you.”

“We can find another way,” he tried. “There’s still time for me. Just bring the girl back.”

Wynonna shook her head. Didn’t need to think it over. “I’m done losing family.”

She tugged Peacemaker’s worn trigger, and watched the life leave Bobo Del Rey and Robert Svane’s eyes. His last pursuit of them, cancelled. Failed.

-

Dolls sped onto the scene, stolen pick-up truck bobbing up and down on the wavy grasslands. Doc and Jeremy in the bed, shooting at the Fireflies who sprinted on-scene, Rosita and her assault rifle blasting out the passenger window.

The Earps and their precious cargo were racing in their direction, Wynonna armed with Rosita’s now used flare gun in hand. Rosita had it from her quarantine zone, and something told her never to keep it. Another something told her to give it to Wynonna before the team split a final time today. If Rosita hadn’t kept it and handed it over, and Wynonna hadn’t risked detection by shooting it, the team might not have made it out.

Rosita jumped out and helped the Earps get Nicole into the back row. Waverly hopped in with her, Wynonna and Rosita in the front. Then they were speeding off, once again leaving another settlement in a hurry, outrunning pursuers. Looking back with heaving chests as the place grew smaller. As the people and their guns grew smaller. This time they weren’t running from wrongdoers. This time they were the wrongdoers, and the further they raced the heavier the guilt sat in their chests.

Dolls pushed the old truck as far as it could go with a punctured tire. Someone managed to shoot a front wheel after he and Rosita stole it initially, and a second Firefly nearly managed a second shot when they stopped to pick up Doc and Jeremy. When those boys jumped into the back, Doc praised Jeremy on his massively improved shooting skills, both close-up and at a distance. Under heavy pressure, something he couldn’t normally handle while face-to-face. Made this whole crazy day worth it, for him.

Eventually they needed to stop for a replacement. All but the Earps searched parked cars nearby, first for an iron, second for an actual tire. When Wynonna opened the back door Waverly looked spooked, shaking slightly and messing around with Nicole’s hair in her lap. They tried their best to cram Nicole in the small back row, and mostly resting on top of Waverly.

“Baby girl, are you okay?”

Waverly jumped slightly. Didn’t noticed her sister. She turned to meet Wynonna’s gaze, shock and horror to her eyes.

“Wynonna, what did we just do?”

“Baby girl—”

“We just killed at those—”

“Hey,” Wynonna steadied, as Waverly’s breathing and panic grew, “it’s gonna be okay.”

“Wynonna, they could’ve gotten the _cure_. To all of this. We—”

“Hey. You did it for Nicole. It’s no good if we have to sacrifice somebody. Sounds more like a cult to me.”

“Was all of this worth it?”

“What?”

“Everyone we’ve lost and killed and stole and cheated and every shitty thing we’ve done—what was the point? This isn’t going to end! We’ve ruined everyth—”

“No. Hey, no.”

Wynonna took her sister’s hand, the one not busy in Nicole’s hair, and used her own free hand to wipe Waverly’s tears.

“Do you love Nicole, Waverly?”

Waverly sniffled, nodded. “More than anything.”

Wynonna remembered that ring, the one Nicole fully intended to use someday. She remembered how Waverly swooned and obsessed over romance novels, how she cried at movies. All those years she wasted with Champ Hardy. She remembered wondering night after night how someone as big-hearted as her sister couldn’t find someone who loved her, all of her, just the same. She remembered Willa’s bullying, sometimes taken a step too far, and having to calm a younger, crying Waverly. She remembered how much Mama loved Waverly, and how much Ward didn’t. She remembered convincing Gus and Curtis to let them spend the night constantly, because Waverly was always so happy at the ranch. She remembered _feeling_ how low Waverly’s heart sank when Nicole left, when Nicole was supposed to die because she was infected.

“Then it _was_ worth it, Wave. This wasn’t the only chance. They’ll still find a away. It’ll be okay.”

Waverly shut her eyes a moment, before exhaling. Trying to release the strain of the last eight years and the last few months especially. When she opened them again her sights filled with red locks, splayed across her legs. Her fingers continued rummaging through them, stopping only to stroke Nicole’s cheek.

-

“Oh, Jesus. What the hell am I wearing?”

Waverly’s head bumped slightly against the window she leaned as she looked down. Dolls, ahead, peeked back on the mirror. Rosita and Wynonna turned around. Jeremy woke Doc in the bed, now with a cover strapped over it. The rear window was open so they could peek in, maybe steal some heat. Waverly already gave them all the blankets she owned. Save for the one draped over Nicole.

Nicole felt groggy as she woke, the world spinning slightly as her eyes adjusted to it. Waverly helped her sit upright, handed over one of her hoodies. When Nicole shot Waverly a small, confused smile, Waverly nearly burst into tears.

Yes, it was worth it.

Nicole rubbed at her eyes, trying her best to shake off the sleep still nagging at her. “What happened?” She looked around, now realizing they were in a car.

Wynonna saw her sister’s eyes drop, almost in shame. Doc in the trunk, clearing his throat. Rosita next to her, looking somewhere else uncomfortably.

“Turns out those guys didn’t have the right tools,” Wynonna answered. She ignored the look from Waverly, silently asking her not to do this for her. Of course she blamed herself for what they’d done. “They wanted to do some scans and other doctor-y stuff. They took some of your blood, but came up short in the end. It was the billionth time they tried, and the billionth time they failed. For now they’ll try something different. Bobo tried to sabotage the whole thing.” She shook her head. The vision of her father’s closest friend raced through her thoughts. “He got himself killed. But that’s probably for the best, right?”

Wynonna stared at her sister’s unrelenting guilty expression, a look telling her, not asking her, to go along with it. So she did.

“I’m really sorry, baby,” she said, grabbing hold of Nicole’s hand. That dimple lifted her spirits.

“Well, hey,” Nicole said, “on the bright side we get a few more minutes with Dolls and Jeremy, right?”

Jeremy smiled at her from the trunk, Dolls from the rear view mirror.

“I think we’re sticking around,” Jeremy promised. Nicole’s eyes glowed, and she turned from him to Dolls.

“Really?”

Dolls was nodding. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Wynonna had one more blank to fill in her perfect lie. “They let Dolls and Jeremy have this truck in thanks for their service.” She eyed Dolls. “Their big sacrifices, and all that.”

Nicole was smiling. “So everything worked out.”

Waverly nodded, smiling the same back at her. “Everything worked out.”

In the front row, Wynonna squeezed Dolls’s hand. Eyed the open road, as they closed in on Sanctuary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gang's final, grand battle to their goal, and some tough decisions. Sometimes you just gotta choose what the heart wants, right?
> 
> In regards to my mentioning of Waverly being bi: I know it's never been officially confirmed (unless I'm totally, totally wrong), but I'd like to think she is. I'm not trying to spark some sort of discourse, it's certainly a free subject to interpret, but for this story I've opted to go with her being bi.


	27. Sanctuary

One last walk together, for old times’ sake. The roads were too clogged and gas was low, with no siphon hose to be found or looted. No complaints. It’d be the last long trek. The weather was perfect, the sun was shining. The miles to Sanctuary were in the single digits.

Dolls stared at Wynonna as they climbed a steep hill, admiring freely. How she laughed and twirled with her sister through the grass, not a care for the world. The sun glowing off her skin, deep dimples expressing themselves, happily.

When she looked to him, he froze. No idea what do do. Heart racing when she stepped over and gave him a spin, dancing to the music blasting off Nicole’s remaining phone battery. When her eyes met Dolls’s own dark pools she froze, too, sharing in his pounding pulse. If not for a collective groan, she would’ve leaned in for the next step. Nicole’s phone finally died, and took the music with it. Dolls coughed awkwardly. Wynonna stepped back. They laughed, awkwardly, Dolls motioning her along after a second of long stares.

Waverly and Nicole kept the energy alive, imitating a tango poorly as Waverly sang some old pop song. Of course Wynonna cut in to steal her sister.

The laughs and sing-songs died once they reached the top of the hill. Wynonna stepped in front of her team, basking in the sight she’d longed for, for so long. The old prison, Sanctuary, in near-perfect shape. Doc whistled at the sight.

“Gang,” Wynonna grinned, “welcome to Sanctuary.”

She paused to take it all on, those behind her stepping forward in a slow pace. For Dolls and Jeremy, there was a different energy than arriving at the trailer park. Not fear of the uncertain future, but hope. Change. Promise of a new beginning.

Behind Wynonna, Nicole was kissing Waverly. Waverly was pulling her into an embrace, inhaling vanilla.

“Congrats, baby,” Nicole beamed. “You finally made it.”

Waverly looked up at her, eyes crinkled in a smile the way they did. “I couldn’t have done it without you, sweetheart.”

Nicole kissed her again. “I think you would’ve been just fine.”

Jokingly, Waverly considered. “You’re right.” She backed off from their hug, winking. “But you make excellent arm candy.”

Nicole laughed to herself and let Waverly walk off. When she stopped by Wynonna, Nicole decided to join the others. Let the sisters have a moment together.

“We did it, Angelpants,” Wynonna said. Her gaze finally left their prize for her sister. “I told you I could do it.”

Waverly’s arms crossed. “I didn’t doubt you.”

Wynonna tilted her head, glared harder. Waverly’s hands uncrossed.

“Fine, maybe a little. But you did it, so you get all the glory.”

Wynonna was smirking. “Was that too much to ask?” Bumped Waverly’s shoulder. “Hey, you helped, too. A lot. As usual.”

Waverly head dipped, her smile fading. That same, shameful look washed over her. She hugged her arms close.

“Thank you, Wyn. I don’t know what I would’ve told Nicole. I don’t even know if she wanted to or not—she never made up her mind about it. Should we tell her? And what happened to Bobo—should we tell Mama? I mean, these things—”

“Okay, okay, slow down. Relax. Chill out, alright? Don’t worry about any of that, Waves. It’s all in the past now, okay? We’re here now. This is our magic reset button. Okay?”

She waited for Waverly to nod. She did, hesitantly.

“Today we’re starting over, Waves. So don’t stress about any of that. Just focus on the future. No more living in the past, yeah?”

Waverly knew forgetting would be a whole new conquest of its own. Still, she accepted, nodding again. Then she was hugging her sister, tight, enough to forget her worries. Reset button. Time to make something of herself.

-

The team was mostly looking the land over, laughing at Jeremy when he tried to roll down the hill. He ended up going way too fast, yelling curses of all degrees, and Dolls had to chase him down before he could crash into one of the cars in the street below. Rosita was doubled over in laughter, Nicole right with her.

Wynonna joined Doc’s side, where he stood, smoking, shaking his head and trying not to laugh.

“Ever been to a place like this, Henry?”

He shook his head further, chuckling at some old memories. “Oh, I have been to my fair share of prisons. Though none as spectacular as this.”

“No,” Wynonna stepped closer, “I meant a place like _this._ ”

She gestured to the land surrounding them. The endless prairies and the melted snow allowing the grass to shimmer in the sun. Blades swaying left and right with the gentle breeze. For miles now, not a hint of destruction by man or disease.

“My father was a farmer. But his land was nothin’ as breath-takin’ as this.” He looked the scape over, huffing smoke in and out. “Divine.”

Wynonna snickered at “divine”. Like a sophisticated old man, Henry was.

“I can’t thank you enough, Doc. For everything you’ve done. From ditching Bobo to going on the front lines again and again to listening to my dumb problems. And letting us call you ‘Doc’. We’d be nowhere without you.”

“For Michelle Earp’s girls, it’s the least I can do. Her words so long ago changed my attitude, and my life.”

Wynonna nodded, small. A distant look glazed over her eyes, as her mind began to wander.

“Are you nervous to see her again?” Doc asked. “I can’t imagine what seein’ someone after so long might feel like.”

Wynonna sighed. “I have no idea what I’m feeling.”

-

The facilities were quiet, in an unnerving way. The front gate was open, spilling the team into a long walkway for the main entrance straight ahead. Concrete walls, gray and boring as ever, stretching from end to end. Main doors were locked, tight. And barred with something, so Wynonna couldn’t pick it.

Not that she got to finish, thanks to guns suddenly cocking and peering over the wall above. All pairs of hands but Wynonna’s went up in surrender.

“Not this shit again,” she sighed. She looked up, to one of the gunmen. “Hey, asshole! Me, Earp! Let us in, dummy!”

Some chattering followed, hushed, mouths hidden behind the raised walls of patrol walkways above. Guns never left their position, never switched off. Dolls glanced to Nicole, who nodded back silently. One last negotiation for their lives.

Only the door opened before someone could start, a man with a flat mustache and facial stubble stepping out. A plain black Stetson on his head, same as Doc’s, with a higher curve. A jacket belonging to Purgatory’s police department, as labeled. Waverly left off a happy gasp, easing the air, while Wynonna cursed.

Deputy Randy Nedley, the man who definitely would’ve succeeded Sheriff Ward Earp. And definitely would’ve done a hell of a lot better a job. He still looked the same as back then, the exception of some grays lined in his hair. Wynonna was glaring at his larger stomach.

“Well,” she said, “at least they eat well here. Should I start running before you lock me up?”

“Not today,” he promised. “But maybe once the law is applicable again.”

Then he was greeting the team, Waverly namely, and treating them all like old friends, thanks to an obvious relationship with the Earps. He let every one of them inside and shooed the guards above away. They switched their safeties back on and returned to sitting on old lawn chairs, picking up interrupted conversations.

Nedley was taking them for a tour, probably to the person the Earps so long sought. The place was still too quiet for Wynonna’s taste.

“I thought you were dead.” Nedley looked to Wynonna, then to Waverly, behind. “All of you.”

“Sheriff Earp kinda forced us into hiding,” Wynonna responded. “Rather than help his town like a responsible person in charge.”

Nedley didn’t look too offended about Ward’s choice. He understood just fine, actually. “I ran, too. For Chrissy’s sake.”

“Is she okay?” Waverly asked. Nedley nodded.

“Sometimes you have to prioritize the things that matter most to you. Whether or not you have other obligations. Learned that the hard way.”

Behind him, Waverly, Dolls, and Jeremy agreed silently. Yesterday’s events were still fresh on their tongues.

“I wanted to stay and help,” Nedley continued, “but I knew it was a lost cause. I knew there was nothing I could possibly do to help, and I needed to protect my family.”

Nicole sympathized. It was exactly what she’d done, after all, including abandoning the urge to rush into Shae’s hospital and grab her. Though, no matter her efforts, she was still the last of her family. But something about hearing the story from a fellow officer was a bit soothing. Justified her leaving, because he did the same. If only she could’ve heard that sooner.

“We drove out of town,” Nedley was saying, “and stayed with extended family. We managed to get into a quarantine zone, but you know how that goes.” The team nodded, in unison. “Some lazy soldier abandoned his post for an unauthorized break. A small herd managed to sneak in, and from there everything went to hell. By some miracle, we stumbled across this place, and by some miracle your mother remembered me.”

“Yeah,” Wynonna said, “she’s got that good memory. Are you taking us to her?”

“To the person in charge, yes. It’s standard procedure.”

The fact he didn’t say _to_ _Michelle_ specifically was enough to send doubt down the Earp sister’s spines. They didn’t ask, didn’t confirm with him. Too afraid to hear anyone but her name uttered.

The prison was a generous size. Enough, according to Nedley on this little tour, to house dozens of families. Cell walls were torn down to make bigger living spaces. Walls inside, as they were beginning to see, were painted more vibrant colors. All around, the more and more families and children they began to pass, the more and more homey it felt, like they weren’t in an actual prison at all. Kids were playing baseball, teens were playing tag and pulling pranks. Adults were gossiping and complaining about some power issue. Nedley said the place’s power worked, but had a temper at times. Last week there was a power outage. Didn’t go on for too long, just long enough to prove they were spoiled. There was running water, too, heated. A heaven on Earth, truly. The main courtyard out back was a huge space, and thus dug up completely for crops. They grew, successfully, and there was enough to keep everyone fed every single day. It was like the old world never left.

They stopped briefly to check out a small scene in a corner of the prison, on the way. Shouting and cheers and grunts emitted, feeding the curiosity. It was a fight club, totally legal, lead by a “Whiskey” Jim Byers. Nedley said people handled big disputes here, supervised. Really helped keep conflict and drama down. Sometimes people would fight for fun or bets. It helped participants keep in shape; there were a lot of bandits in the area. Infected, too, from time to time. Just the world they lived in now.

The tour ended at the warden’s office on the second floor, and Nedley knocking to ask for entry. The person inside, a woman’s voice, told him to enter. He opened the door, but didn’t step aside. The Earps felt their nerves increase tenfold, at the sight of Michelle Earp. She wasn’t facing them, but facing the back wall, leaning against a desk.

“Please make it quick, Randy. I’m really busy today.”

The expression on Michelle’s face when she turned around erased every hint of doubt in Wynonna’s system. Every evil whisper that Michelle would turn them away, believe they weren’t who they said they were. Or, for whatever reason, not want to see them. But here she was, dropping the stuffed folders in her hand and rushing over to embrace her daughters.

Nedley returned to his duties. Dolls shut the door to let the girls have the moment they’d craved for so long. Michelle looked over Wynonna, then Waverly, pure relief and glee to her. She gave the classic, “Wow, look at you!” and complimented Wynonna’s eyes, how tall they’ve both gotten, how big Waverly was now compared to the four-year-old she left behind.

“Lord,” she beamed, words dipped in a slight accent, “I thought you two were dead.”

“I’m sorry we took so long,” Wynonna apologized. Her mother stopped her.

“I understand. It’s crazy out there, from what I’ve heard. I’m lucky to have this place, and the great people helping me run it.”

“You’ve been here the whole time?” Waverly asked. Remembering Bobo’s story. Trying not to freak out.

“Yes, angel. I was working here.”

Wynonna was ready to ask. Bobo’s story echoed in Waverly’s mind again. Were her parents seriously criminals? Michelle went so far as to leave them, just to protect her from them?

“Where’s Willa?”

Waverly saw Wynonna tense, eyes darting back and forth a second. Time to repay the favor on Nicole. “Everyone but us was at Shorty’s during the Outbreak. _We_ wanted to watch movies, but everyone else wanted to go drink. Nobody made it. Not even Shorty, or Robert.”

Visibly, Michelle was hit hard by this. No care for Ward, but her sister, brother-in-law, friend, and oldest daughter, dead. She tried to play it off with a pained smile. “Well, I’m grateful you both made it out.” She placed her hands on their shoulders, warm and grounding. “I never stopped believing you would make it here. I saved room for you.”

Then she was off to the door, an excitement to her. “You girls hungry?”

“Uh, wait.” Attention turned to Wynonna. She glanced to Waverly, then back to Michelle. “Actually, we had a few questions to a—”

Waverly opened the door, suddenly. Wynonna’s expression was asking her why. “I-I’m good. Let’s eat.”

Maybe, for now, it wasn’t better to know. Maybe, for now, she could enjoy what she’d gained, what she almost lost. She agreed to herself to take Bobo’s story lightly, if at all. When things settled in, she’d learn the truth. But right now wasn’t the time. Right now she wasn’t ready for it. Right now, she wanted to go outside and celebrate. Celebrate what little good they’d done, how far they’d come. Celebrate her team, together. Celebrate getting to have a life with Nicole.

In the hall, the sisters introduced their team to Michelle. Silently prayed there was room for them too. There was, so they exhaled, together. Michelle remembered Doc. She was certainly happy to see he was a different person than the short-tempered brat she’d talked to all those years ago, and that he’d helped her daughters make it here. Waverly introduced Nicole as her girlfriend, proudly. Watched the expression on her mother’s face. The woman paused a moment, to make the connection. Then she was shaking Nicole’s hand, welcoming her with more than a simple hello. Waverly felt a relief wash over her, as did Wynonna, who was leaning into her sister.

“Thank God she’s not a homophobe. This would’ve sucked.”

-

The same get-to-know-each-other stories resurfaced around the campfire, in order to introduce Michelle to the team. She was their missing member, in a way. They told her their personal experiences on Outbreak day. How they met. What they went through to get here. Some details were removed. Some were changed. She didn’t need to know about Robert turning into Bobo Del Rey. She didn’t need to know Ward was shot by Wynonna. She certainly didn’t need to know the lengths Willa went to keep them together, to not come to this very place, and how she left this world. As Waverly hoped, in her wildest dreams, Michelle was eager to hear how she and Nicole met. How they got together. What Waverly loved about her. She proved she approved with a tease of Nicole’s height.

The stories went on and on, the serious mood quickly shifting to a lighter one when the personal stories hit. The good times, before the Outbreak, the embarrassing mishaps of everyday life. Jeremy’s many tales of failed flirts. Nicole’s truly psychotic ex from college. Doc remembered getting chased out of a town he was passing through for doing a judge’s wife, twice in one night. All through the evening they talked, uncaring of the time. Chrissy Nedley and Waverly had the chance to reunite early on, and she was eagerly introduced to Nicole. Something told her Nicole was a far better catch than Champ.

When Dolls left the circle to retrieve another beer, Wynonna followed him. Pulled him aside for a second.

“You went against everything you believe in. You went against your way of helping Eliza. I can never, _ever_ thank you enough for that,”

“You should thank Rosita,” Dolls chuckled. “She gave me some great advice; you should live for yourself. Because when you’re happy, the people who love you are happy.”

Wynonna looked up at him. “And are you? Happy? ‘Cause if you’re feeling—”

“I’m fine.” He smiled. “Really, I’m fine. It’s perfect here.”

“So you’ll stay?”

He nodded, easily. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She surged up suddenly, and kissed him in a way she’d never kissed before. Passionately. With feeling, purpose higher than the sake of a mood-booster. Differently from how she kissed Doc (and damn was she thankful how good a sport he was about the meaningless endeavor, and letting her feel for Dolls with no judgment or conflict). She was grateful to have Dolls around, from day one. Including when she wanted to wring his neck. He saw her for her, not the messed up criminal she was and maybe might still be. He saw _Wynonna,_ something even Wynonna didn’t see sometimes.

“Sorry,” she smiled, not sorry at all. Dolls was smiling back at her, the imperfectly perfect woman he was so fascinated with.

“For what?”

Dolls was laughing at their mutually poor communication. Then he wondered shortly if that’d be a problem down the line. She revealed hooking up with Doc, and he revealed he knew. He thought they were together, or had something going on. Meanwhile she was half convinced Eliza had his heart. He promised, not anymore. Just friendship, more a platonic love at most. Something he realized during the chaos in the trailer park. Wynonna promised Doc was fun, but not someone she imagined sticking with in the long run. He was immensely kind, but some things she knew wouldn’t work for them. There’s also the age difference. But this was new, exciting, and things were about to change. So why not give it a shot?

-

Waverly was pleased, all through the late hours as they seeped into morning. It might’ve been I-really-miss-you tolerance, or perhaps genuine acceptance here. Michelle really seemed to approve of Nicole. Hell, she was already telling embarrassing baby stories. Asking Nicole more personal questions, teasing from time to time. Her heart actually ached when Nicole said she was the last of her family. When Michelle told Nicole the Earps had plenty of room, Waverly pinched herself to see if she was dreaming.

Later on, Nicole and Dolls played wingman for Jeremy. The boy of interest, at Michelle’s words. One of few fellow gay men in the joint.

Nicole dipped out when she saw Waverly, roaming from the circle as well. Just stretching her legs a moment, deciding whether or not to join her sister in watching the sunrise.

“Baby, you look so happy.” When Nicole approached, Waverly’s mind stopped wandering. Usually what happened. “Happier than when we tried that _thing.”_

Waverly grinned, recalling. “I miss that _thing.”_

“I’m glad you did. It took me a really long time to learn.” Nicole revealed one of Curtis’s bottles, from behind her back. Grabbed it on the way over. “It’s not bubblegum sake, but I hope it gets me off the hook.”

Still no plans to tell Nicole what they really did. New story on the sake: they were celebrating sticking together and Wynonna dropped it tripping over Nicole’s backpack. Cursed Nicole. Nicole bought it, easy.

Every time Waverly considered the hard truth, she gazed into Nicole’s eyes, remembered she’d almost lost them. For good. So story it was, because Nicole didn’t deserve to die. Not like that. Didn’t deserve to suffer for so long, and never find happiness.

“Maybe,” Waverly accepted.

“Seriously, baby, you look great. Are you happy?”

Waverly found Michelle, laughing about an old Purgatory legend with Doc. Something about demons rising from Hell, and having to chase all seventy-seven of them. She found Nicole, smiling at her from the heavens with her angelic grin and that beautiful dimple and awestruck look, like she was gazing on the Seven Wonders of the World all at once.

“This is the happiest I’ve been in a long time, Nic.”

-

Orange and purple painting the sky, a beautiful, angry red rising up and up with each passing minute. Waverly stopped next to her sister, noting her peaceful expression as she leaned over the guardrail.

“So,” she said, joining her in a same lean, “is it everything you were hoping for?”

Wynonna grinned. “It’s been one hell of a ride, little sister. Mostly rough.”

Waverly looked onward, to the skies. “At least it’s smooth roads from here.”

A pause. Wynonna heard the team behind them, listening on the edge of their seats to one of Michelle’s incredible stories.

“We’ve come a long way, Waves. It feels like forever ago when you picked up that shotgun for the first time.”

Waverly giggled. “And I fell _completely_ over. Or the first time we ran into a Clicker. When it screeched, you yelled back at it and told it to shut up!”

Wynonna snorted. “Or the first day we met Bobo’s crew to be, and one of the guys pointed his fingers in a jacket pocket, pretending it was a gun.”

“The first time we read Mama’s letter, and the map.”

“That time you marched right into Lou’s territory and met Nicole.”

Waverly smiled at that. “That time she showed up and killed Jack like a total badass.”

Waverly paused a second, thinking something over. Drumming her fingers on the rail.

“I’ve decided.”

Wynonna looked to her. “What?”

“The ups and downs. The good and the ugly. It was all worth it.”

Wynonna smiled at her fully. She returned to the sunrise, lighting the vast fields below. Waverly joined her, and they inhaled the early morning spring air. They clinked their bottles together, lost in a feeling of freedom.

“Every second.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finale.
> 
> I had a crazy idea in November, to throw our beloved characters into the extraordinary world of The Last of Us, to mash up two of my favorite things. To have Wynonna Earp punch a zombie in the face with one hand and drink whiskey with the other. I certainly didn't believed it'd take, or that anyone would want to see such an odd mix up. And no way in hell did I think anyone would respond so positively and kindly, and actually enjoy this old thing, give it kudos, come back every week to see it play out. I can't thank you enough for going on this journey with me, for seeing this crazy thing play out and accepting our characters in a different light. I really, thoroughly enjoyed telling this story, and I learned a hell of a lot about myself as a writer. So thank you so very, very much for reading and supporting this piece. 
> 
> And happy premiere day, y'all.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing criticism is always, always appreciated and feel free to hit up my Tumblr @stinging-scorpion to yell about things. Thanks for reading!


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